a quick look around, trying to gauge the mood of the crowd. Ryan Kealey, he knew, was inside the courtroom, sitting not more than a few feet from the South African president. Zuma had insisted on attending the last day of the trial, and despite his best efforts, Kealey had not been able to talk him out of it.
âThe people out here are getting antsy,â Whysall said. âAnd additional police units arrived in the square a few minutes ago. Six more vehicles and fifteen officers, for a total of fifteen and eightyâdamned if I know whether theyâre friends or foes. Otherwise, thereâs nothing to report.â
âOkay, just sit tight. The juryâs coming out now. Make sure everyone is ready to move. Out.â
âCopy that, out.â
Whysall immediately relayed the information to the rest of the team, then returned his attention to the crowd milling around him. Approximately five minutes later he heard a rumble of activity on the other side of the courtroom doors. Whysall knew the sound could only mean Zuma had finished testifying in the main chamber.
Around him, beneath the buildingâs gilded ceiling, dozens of reporters immediately began fighting for position, thrusting their microphones and cameras at armâs length over the rope line. Behind the assembled media, the crowd of onlookers and protesters pushed forward, so that the narrow aisle leading from the main chamber to the courthouse entrance seemed to grow narrower with each passing second.
Whysall studied the chaotic scene with a sense of rising dread. He didnât understand why the general public had been granted access. It made for a security nightmare despite the manned checkpoint and the magnetometer positioned inside the main entrance. As bad as it was inside the building, though, it was ten times worse outside. The Johannesburg police had set up blocks on either end of Von Brandis and Kerk, the two intersecting streets in front of the courthouse, but their focus had been limited to vehicular traffic. They had done virtually nothing to prevent the unruly mob from congregating in front of the building, and Whysall suspected that the police would not be inclined to wrestle with those people when the time came for them to leave, especially after what had just transpired inside the main chamber.
Jacob Zuma had just testified against the head of the SAPS. With some of Joubertâs supporters having managed to find their way onto Zumaâs security detail, it seemed possibleâeven likelyâthat many of the police officers guarding the building were privately supporting the crowd elements hostile to the Zulu president. That the police might not be eager to facilitate Zumaâs safe departure was something Whysall hadnât considered until this moment, avoiding it in his reluctance to let his mind stray into the intricacies of South Africaâs affairs. But this was one instance when a clientâs standing with an internal arm of his own government might well have a direct bearing on his safety.
Whysall knew what it could mean if he was right, and he decided to pass his concerns up the ladder. Just as he was about to speak, though, his earpiece crackled to life.
âAll lobby personnel, tighten up on the rope line. Weâre on the way out.â
Whysall immediately acknowledged the transmission, then listened as the rest of the team followed suit. Thirty seconds later he was in position, and he watched as the heavyset police officer standing in front of the courtroom doors lifted a radio to his lips. The man mumbled a few words, then stepped to one side of the massive oak doors. The doors were pushed open from the other side, and two plainclothes police officers quickly locked them into place against the walls. Then the crowd erupted as Zuma and his entourage swept out of the main chamber and into the lobby.
CHAPTER 5
KHARTOUM, SUDAN
W alter Reynolds, the U.S. chief of mission in the Republic of
âThe people out here are getting antsy,â Whysall said. âAnd additional police units arrived in the square a few minutes ago. Six more vehicles and fifteen officers, for a total of fifteen and eightyâdamned if I know whether theyâre friends or foes. Otherwise, thereâs nothing to report.â
âOkay, just sit tight. The juryâs coming out now. Make sure everyone is ready to move. Out.â
âCopy that, out.â
Whysall immediately relayed the information to the rest of the team, then returned his attention to the crowd milling around him. Approximately five minutes later he heard a rumble of activity on the other side of the courtroom doors. Whysall knew the sound could only mean Zuma had finished testifying in the main chamber.
Around him, beneath the buildingâs gilded ceiling, dozens of reporters immediately began fighting for position, thrusting their microphones and cameras at armâs length over the rope line. Behind the assembled media, the crowd of onlookers and protesters pushed forward, so that the narrow aisle leading from the main chamber to the courthouse entrance seemed to grow narrower with each passing second.
Whysall studied the chaotic scene with a sense of rising dread. He didnât understand why the general public had been granted access. It made for a security nightmare despite the manned checkpoint and the magnetometer positioned inside the main entrance. As bad as it was inside the building, though, it was ten times worse outside. The Johannesburg police had set up blocks on either end of Von Brandis and Kerk, the two intersecting streets in front of the courthouse, but their focus had been limited to vehicular traffic. They had done virtually nothing to prevent the unruly mob from congregating in front of the building, and Whysall suspected that the police would not be inclined to wrestle with those people when the time came for them to leave, especially after what had just transpired inside the main chamber.
Jacob Zuma had just testified against the head of the SAPS. With some of Joubertâs supporters having managed to find their way onto Zumaâs security detail, it seemed possibleâeven likelyâthat many of the police officers guarding the building were privately supporting the crowd elements hostile to the Zulu president. That the police might not be eager to facilitate Zumaâs safe departure was something Whysall hadnât considered until this moment, avoiding it in his reluctance to let his mind stray into the intricacies of South Africaâs affairs. But this was one instance when a clientâs standing with an internal arm of his own government might well have a direct bearing on his safety.
Whysall knew what it could mean if he was right, and he decided to pass his concerns up the ladder. Just as he was about to speak, though, his earpiece crackled to life.
âAll lobby personnel, tighten up on the rope line. Weâre on the way out.â
Whysall immediately acknowledged the transmission, then listened as the rest of the team followed suit. Thirty seconds later he was in position, and he watched as the heavyset police officer standing in front of the courtroom doors lifted a radio to his lips. The man mumbled a few words, then stepped to one side of the massive oak doors. The doors were pushed open from the other side, and two plainclothes police officers quickly locked them into place against the walls. Then the crowd erupted as Zuma and his entourage swept out of the main chamber and into the lobby.
CHAPTER 5
KHARTOUM, SUDAN
W alter Reynolds, the U.S. chief of mission in the Republic of
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