Читать книгу A Just Defiance - Peter Harris - Страница 16

The few months after the Winterveld massacre were good to Colonel Molope. With his promotion to Brigadier in May 1986 had come more responsibility in terms of his command. In charge of all police and security operations in the massive ODI area of Bophuthatswana, his reputation instilled total fear. The fear was based on a brutality that was unpredictable and often irrational, although not without calculation of consequence. As far as the citizens of Winterveld were concerned, for Molope there was no way back, no redemption. Not after the massacre. Merely to maintain the status quo in the area and protect his own policemen, Molope had to increase the use of force and violence.

When Molope’s large Mercedes Benz drove through the streets, people looked away, afraid that he might stop if they stared. Everyone speculated about his eyes, always invisible behind the sunglasses. No one had seen his eyes. It was rumoured that even when beating suspects in the cells he wore his sunglasses.

Molope always travelled with bodyguards and at least one police escort car. Any bystander who attracted attention stood a good chance of being taken to police headquarters in that escort car for interrogation and sport. Such misfortune was a matter of fate.

It was luck that Selina, a friend of Ting Ting’s from Winterveld, introduced him to the woman who was Brigadier Molope’s mistress. A sheer coincidence to which Ting Ting feigned indifference. Selina didn’t know Ting Ting’s real identity. In effect, she was unwittingly part of his cover. Molope’s mistress lived in the ‘Beirut’ section of Mabopane. The section had been named ‘Beirut’ and the area adjacent to it ‘Lebanon’ after extreme fighting there some years earlier between police and residents.

Over the next few weeks, Ting Ting and Selina met the woman from Beirut several times. Molope had bought his mistress a house and often on a Friday or Saturday night his black car would be seen parked beneath a shade-cloth lean-to.

Slowly Ting Ting pieced together details about Molope’s daily life. On one occasion the mistress wanted to invite Selina and Ting Ting to her house but was worried that Molope would discover that she was entertaining guests. She could lose the house for such an indiscretion, she told them.

The house in Mabopane where Molope lived with his wife and family had extensive security, as did another house he owned in Mafikeng. Yet he visited his mistress alone, without his bodyguards. Ting Ting duly briefed the unit.

The following Friday night, Ting Ting waited near the mistress’s house. He parked the unit’s green Audi 500 (bought from a second-hand car dealer on Bloed Street, Pretoria) some blocks away and walked back. The black Merc wasn’t parked under the shade cloth awning, and although he waited some hours Molope didn’t arrive. Eventually, concerned that the woman might spot him loitering in the street, Ting Ting decided to leave.

He was back the next night. Lights were on in the house but no sign of Molope’s car. Again he waited. Again it was wasted effort. He realised this was going to take time.

The following Friday, 20 June 1986 at six o’ clock, Ting Ting again drove past the house. This time the car was parked beneath the shade cloth. The chances were that Molope was there for the weekend.

The next morning the unit met up and Jabu listened to Ting Ting’s information. After a brief discussion, they decided to assassinate Brigadier Molope that night. The task went to Ting Ting, Joseph and the fifth man in the unit, Justice Mbizana. The men parted, the three heading off to retrieve weapons and ammunition from a secret cache.

On the way to Molope’s house, the three were stopped at a police roadblock. To turn round would be dangerous. There was no alternative but to sit it out. Yet surely the car would be searched. A policeman in full combat gear holding an R4 rifle approached them. Ting Ting rolled down the window and politely greeted the officer. The policeman glanced into the car, hesitated, then waved them through.

Despite a kick of adrenaline at this close encounter, the three reconnoitered the mistress’s house: Molope’s car was in the yard. Ting Ting stopped the Audi in a nearby street. It was night but the township was bathed in the orange glow of the tall arc lights, the Apollos. The men went over the operation. Ting Ting would wait in the car. Justice was to take the lead, Joseph to cover him. They were to saunter to the house. The woman should not be hurt. Afterwards they should walk calmly back to the car. No running or they would attract attention.

Joseph and Justice went off. Ting Ting placed his Makarov pistol between his legs. He felt the reassuring shape of the hand grenade in his pocket and wondered if he would have to use it.

He watched Joseph and Justice round the corner and head towards Molope’s house. They were both wearing overcoats over dark tracksuits bought specially for night missions. Each was carrying an AK-47 beneath his overcoat, as well as a hand grenade.

They went through the garden gate and onto the stoep to the left of the front door. Joseph remained in the shadows at the corner of the stoep while Justice, his AK-47 at the ready, knocked loudly. They heard footsteps. The door opened. It was the woman. She saw Justice and the AK-47 levelled at her and screamed. She tried to slam the door but Justice kicked it open. He saw the massive frame of Molope coming up fast behind the woman, protected by her. Justice froze, not wanting to shoot the woman but knowing that if he didn’t open fire first, they were in big trouble.

Suddenly the woman, still screaming, threw herself behind the door. Molope was close now, grabbing at his gun in its holster. Justice pressed the trigger of the AK-47, the recoil pushing him backwards. The volley caught Molope full in the chest, but still the policeman advanced. Now he was in Joseph’s line of sight and he too fired a short burst into the giant man. Molope went down, his body falling forwards, face first. He lay jerking, thick blood spreading beneath him. The woman was silent. Joseph walked up to Molope and fired short automatic bursts into him, one two, one two, as he had been trained, holding his accuracy, wanting to make sure the hated brigadier was dead.

Then the two men walked away holding their AK-47s in the air, Justice telling the gathering onlookers, ‘Ngenane ezindlini, singabe MK.’ Go into your houses, we are MK.

The next day the unit heard radio reports of Molope’s killing. There was spontaneous celebrating in the streets of Winterveld.