‘No,’ Thomas replied at the same time that Skeletor said, ‘Yes.’

The Major spun around, his good eye closed to a slant. ‘Well, which was it?’

Thomas wanted to tell the truth. He really did. But he didn’t want to make his remaining year and a half any more difficult than it had to be. And besides, he could feel the frown directed at him from the troopie at his side, a non-verbal warning not to divulge what happened – unless he wanted a kicking.

Skeletor answered for both of them: ‘He was unarmed when I shot him, sir. But I suspect he dropped his weapon before he reached us.’

‘You suspect?’ The Major’s bad eye twitched.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Were there any explosives on his body? Grenades, limpet mines, mortar rounds, anything to link this man with terrorist activity?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Not even a firecracker?’

‘No, sir.’

‘So am I to understand that you just saw black skin and fired?’

It took a few moments for Skeletor to answer. ‘Yes, sir.’

Thomas, who had been silent throughout this exchange, shifted a little to the side, to dissociate himself from the killer.

But the Major smiled. He opened his arms and bear-hugged Skeletor as if he had found a long-lost child. When he was finished he stepped back and said, ‘You did the right thing, son. You trusted your heart.’

Skeletor gave Thomas a self-satisfied glance.

‘This particular terrorist was a dangerous customer,’ the Major explained. ‘Our Bushmen trackers have been on to him since he slipped over the border. We believe – as you do – that he dropped his weapons to lighten the load. But these communist infiltrators, they’re trained to kill with their bare hands. Give him half a chance and he’ll snap off your neck and use your spine for a toothpick.’ The Major held his chunky fists together and made a snapping movement. ‘Not the kind of person we want arriving unannounced in Pretoria, now is he?’