Trackers Read Online Free PDF

with a 'good', a fascinated 'uh-huh' and
the occasional 'wonderful', as though it were perfect and exactly right.
    Eventually: 'Is there anything that you would like to ask
me?'
    'I would like to know to which publication I am applying?'
    'To be honest, it isn't a publication as such. In the first
place my client needs journalists for their skill in the processing of
information. And good writing, of course.' Mrs Nkosi consulted her notes. 'The
successful candidate will be responsible for the assimilation and structuring
of facts, and the writing of concise, clear and readable reports for senior
management. The reports play a cardinal role in the decision-making process of
the institution.'
    'Oh.' Her disappointment was visible.
    'It's an important job,' said Mrs Nkosi.
    Milla nodded, lost in thought.
    'You will earn exactly the same as someone in the media.
Perhaps a little more.'
    'What institution is it?'
    'I am
not authorised to reveal that now.'

7
     
    Photostatic record: Diary of Milla Strachan
    Date of entry: 20 August 2009
    The first six dance classes completed, the introductory
cycle, and official transfer to Mr Soderstrom, my new, long-term instructor. I
don't know what his first name is, that is Arthur Murray convention, the
old-fashioned forms of address, 'Mr' and 'Mrs' and 'Miss', all gallantry and
dignity. Mr Soderstrom is lean and such an incredibly good dancer. I asked him,
after a session of sweat and struggle, did he think I could ever get there.
'Oh, yes,' he beamed. 'You will dance!'
    I guess he says that to all his students.
    Sat
in front of the computer for three hours, trying to write my book. Nothing. Are
there school figures for writing, an attempt at a novel reduced to
one-two-three-backstep for amateurs? My thoughts drifted off to unfamiliar
places. The nature of freedom, its relativity. Freedom, bound by conscience, by
longing, guilt and dependence and money and stimulation and structure and
talent and goals. And courage. I had lost mine, somewhere in the northern
suburbs, years ago.
    24
August 2009. Monday.
    Milla was in the Pick 'n' Pay in the Gardens centre when
Kemp, her attorney called.
    'Two things. There is a letter here from your son. To you.
And Christo phoned, very angry. He said people came to see him, at work. About
your background check.'
    'My background check?' Completely at a loss. 'Apparently you
applied for a job somewhere.' She battled to put two and two together. 'Did
you?' asked Kemp. 'Yes ...'
    'He said they were asking questions about your political
background.'
    'My political background?'
    'May I ask where you applied for work?'
    'I... the ... employment agency couldn't tell me much. It's a
journalism job .. .What did Christo tell them?' 'His exact words?' 'Yes.'
    'That you are a bloody communist, just like your father. And
as crazy as your mother. Apparently he was very upset, it was a big
embarrassment for him, he said you ought to have warned him ...'
    'How could I... ?' She heard the tone of another incoming
call. 'Gus, I have to go ...'
    'I'll send our messenger to deliver the letter to you.'
'Thanks, Gus.'
    He said goodbye and she checked her screen. UNKNOWN CAI ,LER.
    'Hello?'
    'Hello, Milla, this is Mrs Nkosi...'
    Milla wanted to ask about the checks, she wanted to protest
politely, but before she could react: 'I have very good news for you. You are on
the short-list. Can you come in tomorrow for another interview?'
    It was so unexpected that Milla asked: 'Tomorrow?'
    'If that's convenient.'
    'Of course.' She confirmed a time, and said goodbye. She
stood behind her trolley in the middle of the shopping centre aisle, trying to
absorb it all. Apparently Christo's comment about her father, the communist,
hadn't done too much harm.
    Then Milla turned and walked back into Pick 'n' Pay and
bought herself a pack of cigarettes and a Bic lighter. For the first time in
eighteen years.
     
    In the Presidential Intelligence Agency Operations room, the
big screen displayed a photo