Might see you next weekend. G." When Michael walked into the Mail's offices on the Monday morning he found that those members of the newspaper's staff who had arrived ahead of him were gathered in a silent nervous cluster in the middle of the newsroom while half a dozen strangers were going through the filing cabinets and rifling the papers and books on the desks. They had already assembled a dozen large cardboard cartons of various papers, and these were stacked in the aisle between the desks.
'What is happening?" Michael asked innocently, and his sub gave him a warning glance as he explained.
'These are police officers of the security branch." 'Who are you?" The plain-clothes officer who was in charge of the detail came across to Michael, and when he gave his name the officer checked his list.
'Ah, yes - you are the one we want. Come with me." He led Michael down to Leon Herbstein's office and went in without knocking.
There was another stranger with Herbstein. 'Yes, what is it?" he snapped, and the security policeman answered diffidently.
i!~
'This is the one, Captain." The stranger frowned at Michael, but before he could speak Leon Herbstein interrupted quickly.
'It's all right, Michael. The police have come to serve a banning order on the Saturday edition with the "Rage" article in it, and they have a warrant to search the offices. They also want to talk to you, but it's nothing to worry about." 'Don't be too sure of that,' said the police captain heavily. 'Are you the one who wrote that piece of commie propaganda?" 'I wrote the "Rage" article,' Michael said clearly, but Leon Herbstein cut in.
'However, as the editor of the Golden City Mail it was my decision to print it, and I accept full responsibility for the article." The captain ignored him and studied Michael for a moment before going on. 'Man, you are just a kid. What do you know, anyway?" 'I object to that, Captain,' Herbstein told him angrily. 'Mr Courtney is an accredited journalist --' 'Ja,' the captain nodded, 'I expect that he is." But he went on addressing Michael, 'What about you? Do you object to coming down to Marshall Square police headquarters to help us with our investigations?" Michael glanced at Herbstein and he said immediately, 'You don't have to go, Michael. They don't have a warrant for your arrest." 'What do you want from me, Captain?" Michael hedged.
'We want to know who told you all that treasonable stuff you wrote about." 'I can't disclose my sources,' Michael said quietly.
'I can always get a warrant if you refuse to cooperate,' the captain warned him ominously.
'I'll come with you,' Michael agreed. 'But I won't disclose my sources. That's not ethical." 'I'll be down there with a lawyer right away, Michael,' Herbstein promised. 'You don't have to worry, the Mail will back you all the way." 'All right. Let's go,' said the police captain.
Leon Herbstein accompanied Michael down the newsroom and as they passed the cartons of impounded literature the captain observed gloatingly, 'Man, you've got a pile of banned stuff there, Karl Marx and Trotsky even - that's really poisonous rubbish." 'It's research material,' said Leon Herbstein.
'Ja, try telling that to the magistrate,' the captain chortled.
As soon as the doors of the elevator closed on the captain and Michael, Herbstein trotted heavily back to his office and snatched up the telephone.
'I want an urgent call to Mr Shasa Courtney in Cape Town. Try his home at Weltevreden, his office in Centaine House and his ministerial office at the houses of parliament." He got through to Shasa in his parliamentary suite and Shasa listened in silence while Herbstein explained to him what had happened.
'All right,' Shasa said crisply at the end of it. 'You get the Associated Newspapers lawyers down to Marshall Square immediately, then ring David Abrahams at Courtney Mining and tell him what has happened. Tell him I want a massive reaction, everything we have got. Tell him also that I will be flying up immediately in the company jet. I want a limousine at the airport to meet me, and I will go to see the minister of police at the Union Buildings in Pretoria the minute I arrive." Even Leon Herbstein, who had seen it all before, was impressed by the mobilization of the vast resources of the Courtney empire.
At ten o'clock that evening Michael Courtney was released from interrogation on the direct orders of the minister of police and when he walked out of the front entrance of Marshall Square headquarters he was flanked by half a dozen lawyers of formidable reputation who had been retained by Courtney Mining and Associated Newspapers.
At the Pavement Shasa Courtney was waiting in the back seat of the black Cadillac limousine. As Michael climbed in beside him, he said grimly, 'It is possible, Mickey, to be a bit too bloody clever for your own good. Just what the hell are you trying to do? Burn down everything we have worked for all our lives?" 'What I wrote was the truth. I thought you, of all people, would understand, Pater." 'What you wrote, my boy, is incitement. Taken by the wrong people and used on simple ignorant black folk, your words could help to open a Pandora's box of horrors. I want no more of that sort of thing from you, do you hear me, Michael?" 'I hear you, Pater,' Michael said softly. 'But I can't promise to obey you. I'm sorry, but I have to live with my own conscience." 'You are as bad as your bloody mother,' said Shasa. He had sworn twice in as many minutes, the first time in his life that Michael had ever heard his father use coarse language. That and the mention of his mother, also the first time Shasa had done so since she left, silenced Michael completely. They drove without speaking to the Carlton Hotel. Shasa only spoke again when they were in his permanent suite.
'All right, Mickey,' he said with resignation. 'I take that back.
I can't demand that you live your life on my terms. Follow your conscience, if you must, but don't expect me to come rushing in to save you from the consequences of your actions every time." 'I have never expected that, sir,' Michael said carefully. 'And I won't in future either." He paused and swallowed hard. 'But all the same, sir, I want to thank you for what you did. You have always been so good to me." 'Oh Mickey, Mickey!" Shasa cried, shaking his head sorrowfully.
'If only I could give you the experience I earned with so much pain.
If only you didn't have to make exactly the same mistakes I made at your age." 'I am always grateful for your advice, Pater,' Michael tried to placate him.
'All right then, here's a piece for nothing,' Shasa told him. 'When you meet an invincible enemy you don't rush headlong at him, swinging with both fists. That way you merely get your head broken.
What you do is you sneak around behind him and kick him in the backside, then run like hell." 'I'll remember that, sir,' Michael grinned, and Shasa put his arm around ,his shoulders. 'I know you smoke like a bush fire, but can I offer you a drink, my boy?" 'I'll have a beer, sir." The next day Michael drove out to visit Solomon Nduli at Drake's Farm. He wanted to have his views on the 'Rage' article, and tell him of the consequences he had suffered at Marshall Square.
That was not necessary. Solomon Nduli somehow knew every detail of his detention and interrogation and Michael found he was a celebrity in the offices of Assegai magazine. Nearly every one of the black journalists and magazine staff wanted to shake his hand and congratulate him on the article.
As soon as they were alone in his office, Solomon told him excitedly, 'Nelson Mandela has read your piece and he wants to meet you." 'But heis wanted by the police - he's on the run." 'After what you wrote, he trusts you,' Solomon said, 'and so does Robert Sobukwe. He also wants to see you again." Then he noticed Michael's expression, and the excitement went out of him as he asked quietly, 'Unless you think it's too dangerous for you." Michael hesitated only a moment. 'No, of course not. I want to meet them both. Very much." Solomon Nduli said nothing. He simply reached across the desk and clasped Michael's shoulder. It was strange what a pleasurable sensation that grip gave Michael, the first comradely gesture he had ever received from a black man.