DUP - Up In Arms

GAVIN MILLS

Dup Up In Arms

The South African Arms Deal Scandal

First published by Gavin Mills 2024

Copyright © 2024 by Gavin Mills

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or localities is entirely coincidental.

Gavin Mills asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Gavin Mills has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks, and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in the book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

Fourth edition

ISBN (paperback): 9781981671458

ISBN (hardcover): 9798224187621

This book is dedicated to our continent, my country and all the incredible people who inspired this story. I thank you for touching my heart and touching my life in so many different ways. God bless Africa.

In memory of my parents, Johan Jacob & Colleen Mills

CONTENTS

Foreword vii

Part One

1 Homecoming 3

2 Challenging Lawd 14

Part Two

3 The Induction of Cade 21

Part Three

4 Roxy Swallow (Cade) 29

5 Down and Out 39

Part Four

6 Miss World 1992 - Sun City 43

Part Five - 1993

7 Opportunity knocks 53

8 Hooking a Queen 62

9 New Dawn 65

10 Time for Lebo 75

11 Cry for Freedom 83

Foreword

Although the story has been woven around the South African arms deal saga, all information and timelines referred to - and related to the arms deal - are in the public domain and freely available on the internet. My little tale is intended to entertain, and possibly make you think, but not necessarily inform.

That said, many of the characters have been inspired by people I know of or have known in my life - but most times, names and places have been changed for obvious reasons; any similarities to actual people living or dead is entirely coincidental.

For the record, while Ball/Lawd is loosely based on a real person, this individual was apparently assassinated in 1990.

Rhede, Cade and Salib however, are purely figments of my imagination.

Part One

2002 May Onwards

1 - Homecoming

May 2002: Tuesday evening - Johannesburg

It’s just after six when I stumble up to the front door and ring the bell. The sun is hanging low, the air is dusty and dry, laced with the noxious death of rush-hour smog. My back hurts like hell, my hands hurt like hell, I am dirty and I’m tired, hungry, irritable and badly beaten up. I hear footsteps inside, charging closer. Home sweet home.

‘Dup! For God’s sake… We were worried sick! Casey and I… My God!’

Shock in alarmed eyes peering over hands covering a distressed mouth. Thankfully it seems she’s no longer intent on tearing my head off. Being locked up for a few days can have fringe benefits.

‘Look at you… What have they done to you! Oh my baby…’

Tears swell in her beautiful hazel eyes, concern replacing anger. I almost want to cry. She can have no idea what I have been through, the last few days. She will never know. Thank God I am out of there and I am still alive! She reaches up to touch the pulverized skin around my eyes. I wince my response..

‘It’s okay baby. Worse than it looks. I’m okay. Promise - but a favor maybe? Could you get me a scotch… please; and something to eat. I really need to eat.’

Sure I understand why Sara would be freaked. First finding out about my ‘Salome moments’, then the pic story, and then me being arrested. She had been freaked already when the cops picked me up - that’s what loving wives do - and let’s face it, gone for three days… But thankfully things break in my favor this time, at least it was not that I was out partying.

Familiar aromas of dinner waft through from the kitchen as I stumble inside. Curry maybe, or bobotie. Normally among my favorites, but not tonight. I don’t feel like either. Sara is trying to assess the damage as I squeeze past her for the stairs.

‘Dup look at you. Shouldn’t we call someone? I mean…’

‘Who? For what baby, for what? You know they wanna know shit …about us anyway. Denzel is dead! Did they tell you? Who we gonna call, the President?’

‘But Dup, in God’s name this is not right. Why you? Everybody knows! …This can’t be happening.’

I head for the bathroom, the smell of bobotie mixed with fresh floor polish following me.

‘That bloody video. That’s why. The papers. You saw… We should have just shut the fuck up. Four years… It was done. Over!’

‘Dup what are you saying? I thought… Oh my baby.’

‘Please Sara. Can I have that Scotch?’

Sara is in a state, halfway up the stairs behind me. She goes to say more, but then thinks better of it and charges back down.

‘Scotch coming up. I’ll phone for some pizza. Oh Dup, this is insane.’

I enter the bathroom and switch on the light. In the mirror I study my battered face, torn clothes and bad attitude. Sheesh, they did me good. Real good. My face is the worst. Covered in crusted blood, and I feel filthy. I try peer into my mouth. Can’t see too good. The bathroom light-bulb is blown again. Why always the same globe? We need to get someone around to check it out.

I lean forward for a better look. A front tooth is broken off almost at the gum line. Only one thank God; two others cracked and chipped, but at the back. They can probably be saved but with the missing front tooth, I look like a hobo. I know it could have been worse. A lot worse. Small mercies no doubt, but still hurts like hell …I wonder if they hit a nerve? But nerve or not, my mouth caked with dried blood looks like I’ve been gargling with razor blades. And my nose is broken - again - and black eyes, a tear above the right one. Somehow I look like a raccoon who opened his mouth in the wrong place at a very wrong time. Bloody asseholes. Why does everyone hit on the same side? Remind me next time to cause shit with lefties.

Where does Sara keep the cotton wool; do we have a first aid kit? Fuck it. I wash my face with water. Jeez that hurts. Sara’s back with the Scotch.

‘Let me have a look at that…’

I try pull away, change the subject.

‘Do we have a first aid kit? Did you call for pizza?’

‘On the way. Come here.’

I move closer reluctantly. Here we go. I know she means well, but I’m in no mood for prodding, no matter how well intended.

‘Jeez my baby. Did they say anything about the pic? The guys in the paper… Salib the power guy and that Cade character - is he really an arms dealer?’

She’s trying to look in my mouth. ‘What did they do to you… Why?’

‘Because they’re cops and they can, that’s why.’

I decide not to tell her about my cute little remark, just before they went absolutely ape-shit.

‘I don’t know. All I do know is Denzel is dead. The shit beaten out of him - five hours after we gave him the pic. It has to be that. Which means it has to be them - in the paper. It was them. Denzel said so. His sidekick said so. And now he’s dead and they take me in. How? All bullshit I tell you, they’re fucking crazy! How long before the pizza?’

‘Do they know about the film?’

‘How should I know. Didn’t ask.’

I can see she’s totally freaked, and I don’t want her to worry.

‘Don’t stress babes, it could have been worse.’

‘How Dup? The cops are on your case, Denzel is dead …and we still don’t know a thing about …them.’

‘Well I…’ I start, unsure where to go. ‘They could have broken my legs and kept me locked up. Or even killed me. That must count for something… Thank God for Jarred. That was good thinking babes.’

I try a ‘you-done-good’ peck, but she pulls away.

‘Oh God Dup, I’m so scared. What we gonna do?’

‘Maybe sleep on it? Maybe show them the pic.’ Do I mean it? And then what?

‘Who… the police?’

‘Screw the police.’

I take off my filthy shirt. It’s scuffed bad, not just from the beating; also from spending a night in a stinking cell with the broken and the downtrodden. It’s Tuesday, late afternoon, I smell like a pole-cat, and I really need a shower.

The front door buzzes. Karma!

‘Let me get that.’

Without waiting for an answer, Sara’s gone. That’s okay with me - I hate being faffed over at the best of times. I spit in the basin. Gob and blood. I rinse my mouth. Ouch! I run my tongue over my teeth, dry my face. Shit, there’s another tooth loose. I jump in the shower, rinsing my body super fast - and hear the doorbell again. What do they expect, butlers on roller skates?

The bathroom door is open, and downstairs I hear Sara open the front door, knowing she’ll be all smiles for the pizza man - but there are two male voices. It doesn’t sound like the pizza man - or they’ve lifted their game a lot. I grab a towel and start drying off. Can wash up properly later. Curious, I sneak a peek down from upstairs. There are two guys. Orientals. Thin. In good shape. Both wearing good suits and wide mouthed, narrow eyed oriental smiles. I can see Sara is alarmed but hides it well.

‘Pizzas?’

‘Good afternoon Mrs. Du Preez.’

Which one is talking? Whichever, his mouth hardly moves. Who cares. They look …not like the pizza man.

‘Yes?’ she says politely.

‘Is Mr Du Preez home?’

From behind the door looking down, I can see by the way he says it he knows full well I’m home. Are they watching the house? Who are they?

Sara answers stiffly. ‘Not yet, …but expecting him any moment. Can I maybe help?’

But no flies on these two. Straight in like a recitation.

‘He needs to come with us.’

‘Well he’s not here …you’ll have to come back.’

Sara retreats, starts closing the door. The door stops, prevented by a foot, gentle but firm. The choir of two have their lines all worked out.

‘It’s better he come with us. Please tell him. We will wait.’

With gentle force they ease the door back open and with typical oriental class, bow slightly and wait for her to retreat for their access. Their voices sound like trouble, drifting upstairs through gargled space, but thankfully I feel much better than when I arrived home. Amazing what a hot shower can do when you’re down. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out something is not right. Especially after the past two days. I can feel my nerves standing up like soldiers.

Here we go again. God I love my life. That stupid film!

In a fresh T-shirt I head downstairs, drying my hair with a towel smelling like Stay-soft. I have my jeans back on, still smeared with blood and grime. Haven’t really had time to dress for this tea-party. I see Sara leading them into the lounge, off to the right of the downstairs hallway. Is it only the two orientals? I can’t see anyone else. As I make my grand, slightly harassed entrance, they are looking around nonchalantly like tourists in a souvenir shop, and I get the uneasy feeling that I am to be the souvenir.

The two men make no effort to sit as Sara turns to me and forces a smile.

‘Dup these men want to chat to you…’

‘Hi. How can I help?’

I force a smile too, feeling like I’ve got ice up my ass. The taller one speaks first.

‘Good afternoon Mr Du Preez. Pleased to meeting with you. My name is Lennox,’ and Tweedle Dum his buddy pipes up, ‘and I am Lewis.’

Lennox and Lewis? You gotta be kidding me. Where’re the cameras?

‘How can I help you?’

‘You need to come with us.’

Now I’m really tense. Three days chatting to the feds, my ex boss dead after me giving him the pic, and now Laurel and Hardy from Chinatown. How many are out to get us? One little frame from one little video for God’s sake.

‘Where are we going? Why?’ I ask.

‘It is important. We must go. You come, yes?’

‘If I said no, you would take me anyway, right?’

Are these guys born with smiles? How do they make out at funerals? Lordy lordy, the way this is panning out, maybe I find out.

‘Let me get a jacket. Will be right down.’

Sara is horrified. Her eyes glisten with badly controlled tears.

‘Dup. You can’t…’ to Lennox and Lewis like a wildcat, ‘What do you want him for? Leave us alone you bastards! What do you want with him!’

‘Sara, it’s okay. I’ll be back. Soon.’

Yeah right. And Humpty Dumpty is doing Dixie in latex.

The second last thing I want to do is go with them, but the last thing is to have them in my house with my wife and child. Then I realize I haven’t seen or heard Casey yet. Unusual. Is she okay? Could this thing have . . . I will kill them if they touch my child!

Suddenly hooting outside in the street. I look at my watch. Seven on the dot. Are we expecting someone? I look at Sara. She is white.

‘That’s probably Vanessa. Play date. Bringing Casey home.’

I am relieved she’s only been on a play date, but also want to puke. They’re going to see my daughter, and there’s nothing I can do about it. The doorbell.

‘Anyone home?’

It’s Vanessa. Remind me to change that ridiculous door- bell chime. Who plays Jingle Bells in May? Vanessa’s carrying Casey. She’s asleep. I try look calm, force a smile and not wince in pain as crusted scabs crack open around my mouth.

Sara approaches her friend, caring eyes on her daughter, ‘How was she? Good I hope?’

‘Had a wonderful time.’

Vanessa’s trying in vain to conceal her alarm at my face, and curiosity regarding our uninvited guests.

‘Here. Let me help you.’

Sara steps forward and cuddles Casey out of Vanessa’s arms. ‘Looks like she had a long day.’

‘You’re telling me!’

Vanessa’s eyes stray back to the Far East. Time to save the day.

‘Thanks so much for bringing her home,’ I try smile. ‘Just been finishing off some work. Please meet my associates …err Mr Lennox and Mr Lewis. We’re working on something big.’

She offers a limp wrist and a slightly wet lipped smile. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

They ignore her hand and bow courteously. She stands uncertain, then turns for the door.

‘Must dash. A family to feed. Sara, please let me know if you’re still interested in the D-object.’ She winks.

The D-object? What is the D-object? Sounds dirty. Am I getting a surprise? Clean your mind up dammit - this is serious. Lennox and Lewis shuffle, indicating it’s time to leave.

I wait for Vanessa to smile her way out, then shoot upstairs and am back in less than a minute with a leather bomber jacket. In May it can be cold at night. Lennox is driving and Lewis is in the passenger seat, or Lewis is driving and Lennox is in the passenger seat, I have no idea. They look the bloody same to me - I can’t see which is taller with my swollen eyes and them sitting down. Suffice it to say, they are in front and I’m piled in the back. It’s a Pajero, so space is not a problem. Not too old, not too new. The kind of Pajero you would see doing the Can-Can singing the National Anthem down a deserted street, and still not notice.

Lennox (or Lewis) drives carefully, taking pains to blend in and dissolve into the smear of early evening traffic. We are heading west out on the N1 when Lewis (or Lennox) turns and holds out the balaclava.

‘It would be better if you wear this.’

‘Sorry mate. I get car-sick. I can just lie down…’

‘Please put it on.’

I can see there’s no point in arguing. Could I maybe take them? I am fit and strong, but I’ve seen that look before. From Tony in Portugal, a long time ago. He was a bloody ninja. He could follow people right into their houses without being seen. Despite the fact that I am much bigger than either of them, it’s apparent I would . . . wear the balaclava.

I snatch it from him - the least I can do is look cool, even if I feel like a basket case. Delicately I pull it over my head . . . Ouch! Fuck, my lip…

Then all hell breaks loose. Trained hands all over me. God knows what’s going on - I can’t see. And as quick as it started, it’s over. Quiet - except now I feel I have handcuffs on. Fuck me. How’d he do that? Maybe when this is over he can teach Sara and me some tricks.

I settle down and try get comfortable. No chance. I try to make conversation, learn something. Where are we going? It suddenly hits me. The third guy. Three is dead. That’s it. Either something to do with that - or Cade, the arms guy. Must be.

But they will not be drawn in. Nothing. Once or twice a couple of foreign words, like gargling with marbles. But else, nothing. I try concentrate on the journey. How long? How many turns? Left, right. I try count the intervals… I give up. Maybe I’m not cut out for this cloak and dagger shit - or maybe just movies are full of shit. When in doubt, doze. So with nothing better to do, I start to drop off, more from exhaustion than intention. They’re playing cool sounds - especially for foreigners - the air-con is on warm and I am out. Stupid Dup.

Suddenly I am jolted awake. We’re on a gravel road - or off-road. This is a god damned Pajero; must be a rough bloody track to shake us around like this. Where are we? Where are they taking me? I’ve got a family for Heaven’s sake. What can possibly be so heavy with that video - why the big deal? Well obviously it is a big deal. Big enough for Denzel to end up dead. It was a fair bet they would be coming for me next. Sooner or later, for me - and probably then my family. And what had the cops said: ‘Three is dead.’ Is that really it?