The Queen v. Karl Mullen Read Free Page B

worst of it. I told you it was a long piece of wood. There would be six inches or more protruding. This could be hit with a heavy ruler. The first time he tried this torture he hit too hard. The shock was so severe that the man died. After that he was more discreet. A few gentle taps. No one could stand up to the excruciating pain. They would tell him anything he wanted to know. Sometimes making things up. Anything, anything, to prevent him hitting again.”
    Mkeba had picked up a pencil from the desk while he was speaking. On the last word he snapped it between his strong fingers.

 
2
    Early on the following afternoon Fischer Yule said to Karl Mullen, “I had to spend most of the morning at King Charles II Street, being talked to by Max Freustadt, our Consul General. You know him?”
    “I met him ten years ago. He was an up-and-coming man in the Foreign Department in Pretoria. Might have gone up further, and come along quicker, if he hadn’t always seemed to be worrying.”
    “He’s got a lot of things to worry him right now. You’re one of them.”
    “Why’s he worrying about me?”
    “Because he knows nothing about you – officially.”
    “That’s crazy. I know that our Foreign Department explained exactly what I was trying to do. And asked for full help and support.”
    “Sometimes people travel faster than letters. As soon as the official communiqué does turn up he promises he’ll notify Whitehall that you’re attached to my section.”
    “And until then I’m just a private citizen?”
    “Presumably. But it needn’t stop you working.” There was a note in Yule’s voice which suggested that he was not entirely enamoured of Mullen. “I’m sure there’s a lot you can tell me. For a start, you might explain to me just exactly what you’re up to.”
    “As I told you, I’m here to secure the extradition of one Jack Katanga to Mozambique.”
    “Why to Mozambique?”
    “Because he happens to be a citizen of that country by birth and residence. Once he is back in Mozambique I can assure you we shall have little difficulty in securing his transfer to Johannesburg, where he will stand trial for the murder of a member of the Transvaal security force.”
    “The second step won’t be difficult,” agreed Yule. “But I don’t think the first one will be easy.”
    “Not easy, no. But we have one strong card. It seems that he has had the impudence to admit the murder, in print. In the book the British public are so eagerly awaiting.”
    “ Death Underground ? Yes. It’s had a lot of publicity. I understood that it was a slashing attack on the mine-owners in the Rand.”
    “Correct. But it is also an account of his life.”
    “Have you read it?”
    “No. It has been kept very carefully under wraps. No advance copies. No serialisation in the newspapers. Designed to explode with maximum effect on publication day, tomorrow. But inevitably certain extracts have leaked out. And there seems to be no doubt that among them is an account of his escape from custody five years ago. An escape which resulted in the death of one of his escorts.”
    Yule touched a bell on his desk and said to his secretary, the middle-aged, placid Mrs. Portland, “Would you ask Mr. Silverborn to join us.” And to Mullen, “I thought we ought to bring our legal department in on this.” As he spoke he was extracting a number of folders from the filing cabinet behind his desk. There was a bundle of three different-coloured folders, kept together by an elastic band; one buff, one red and one green. He slid out the buff folder and opened it. He said, “This is Katanga’s personal history so far as it’s known to us here. It starts five years ago when he got into the Vaal, through Swaziland, and helped to organise the big miners’ strike on the Rand. That, as you know, was when he was picked up – Oh, Lewis, this is Karl Mullen.”
    Lewis Silverborn was tall and serious. His black hair was streaked with white. He nodded and