THE LARGE FRENCH POODLE
(Note to the reader: The story is a fictional account of an era that is receding into the mist of time.)
Every weekday morning at 07h30 sharp, Elyna would make her way down Shortmarket Street towards a delightfully quaint coffee shop on the corner that intersects with Long Street in the CBD of Cape Town. On a leash was her trusty friend, Luna, a large breed French Poodle. She would sweep through the wood framed glass doors, oh so elegantly, with Luna in tow. As per the usual morning routine, Elyna would whisk her way through the ageing tables and chairs and slightly dated décor, even for the early 1980s, and settle at a corner table for two. Luna, though, would sit on the floor on rotund hind quarters, expectant of the breakfast treats the coffee shop owner would graciously provide for the quintessentially French hound. Elyna would be served her morning black filter coffee with no sugar, followed by a continental breakfast, without having to place an order. She had become a regular at this splendid little venue that had earned itself a reputation as a coffee shop of note in this quarter.
Elyna was a slender, typically French, lady (has anyone ever met a Parisian woman who carries an ounce too much fat? Unlikely). She originally hailed from Paris, and accompanied her partner to Cape Town, from whence he and Elyna would manage the South African leg of a global enterprise they ran. He would leave their penthouse apartment about a half mile away at 06h00 every weekday, sharp! He would see to their business interests in and around the city, but often made his way further afield on flights to Johannesburg as engagements dictated. He was rarely away for longer than a day or two on these frequent business trips. No matter for Elyna, who had settled into a routine that suited her well. The attractive French lady, always impeccably attired and made up, was quite an institution at the coffee shop. She was the subject of many an admiring glance that lingered a touch too long on occasion, to become a gaze. Obviously aware of her presence eliciting male attention, she would gesticulate as she conversed with the odd contact that met her some mornings in this public venue. Her long, manicured nails waved sensually in gestures that accompanied her bright red lips, as she made her point in low tones to the patron who joined her once or twice a week for the light breakfast. Those were the eighties, so smoking was still permitted in restaurants. She would usually puff with a hint of exaggeration at the ladies cigarette that had been inserted into a beautifully crafted mouthpiece that she carried with her since her days as a Parisian mademoiselle. All the while, Luna sat ever so obediently enjoying treats and waiting patiently for Elyna to complete her breakfast and any short interaction with the patron who oft-times joined her.
The dashingly stylish Elyna with her (bottle) blond coiffed hair, presented a convincing image of a “kept woman” living the high life on the credit cards of a fabulously wealthy French businessman. Sartorially adept, it was an image she upheld not only with ease, but with intent. She was in point of fact the kingpin around which an entirely global business operation revolved. Rather than being second fiddle in this massive business that involved multiple players and numerous countries across several continents, she called the shots both literally and figuratively. Her ostensibly surreptitious engagements with her fellow patrons that shared the table for two, were deftly co-ordinated by Elyna. The fellows whose lives revolved around her, were doing her bidding in the international arms market, fraught as it was with danger at every level.
Delving deeper into the murky world to which she devoted her singularly undivided attention, Elyna juggled international funds transfers and the procurement, transportation and delivery of weapons – not paying much close interest to the motives or honour of her clients.
The context in which she and her minions operated, was deeply rooted in Cold War politics. South Africa was in this regard viewed by her as a particularly lucrative field of activity. Not only were there Cold War tensions between the Communist Bloc and the Capitalist West, but the SA Republic was ostracised by most of the world, because of its apartheid policies. Since 1963 a “voluntary” arms embargo had been imposed by the United Nations (General Assembly). The “voluntary” nature of the embargo ensured that it was largely ignored – the vast sums of money South Africa was prepared to fork out for its Defence requirements dwarfed political expediency. After the Soweto Uprising of 1976 the ratchet of boycotts was tightened in response to the African National Congress baying for tighter arms control. A mandatory embargo on weapons and related technology was imposed by the United Nations Security Council in 1977. The United Kingdom and USA balked at the imposition of economic sanctions, so the scope was left wide open for trade and regular component imports and exports to continue as a cover for equipment to be shipped in. This equipment could be utilised in a growing weapons manufacturing industry. Without a water tight trade embargo, the opportunity for sanctions busting arms dealers of Elyna’s ilk exploded into a dollar generating niche to be dabbled in. Danger abounded, so it was a venture not for the faint hearted.
It was in this field that Elyna came into her own. She had a sharp intellect, business acumen and the nerve to engage in all manner of clandestine operations that could turn a handsome profit. Based in Cape Town she could work with discretion and forge links with trusted allies in the illicit weapons business. For good measure she carried on her person a Belgian manufactured Browning Fabrique Nationale .25 calibre pistol. It was small enough to conceal, but effective enough to facilitate escape from a sticky situation. The SA Defence Force and Police Intelligence wings had an interest in ensuring the success of such clandestine machinations, so were more likely to act as facilitators in the country than as an impediment. More than a few of the patrons who frequented the coffee shop and joined her for breakfast were undoubtedly linked to the local intelligence community.
Equipment would make its way through Europe, via the Middle East or South America where there were sympathetic discreet supporters of the South Africans, as much for the commissions that could be skimmed off transactions, as for the delicate political situations in which they found themselves in their own neighbourhoods. A circuitous route through multiple hostile African states would be lubricated with copious amounts of bribe dollars. The South African side had ample security backup, the intelligence community adept at preventing anything missing their antennae or flying under their radar. South Africa was awash with funds for defence procurement, all solidly covered by tight secrecy.
The deft manner in which the defence establishment and the weapons manufacturing industry were able to maintain secrecy, is amply shown by the skill with which South Africa’s nuclear weapons project was kept under wraps, until it was dismantled and had become moot. In this well oiled operation of moving weapons, components and essential manufacturing equipment around the globe and then in the country procuring the arms, the likes of the French lady and her Poodle played a significant role, for which handsome sums of laundered dollars were secreted away in tax havens and discreet banks that were based in neutral territories.
The French facilitator and her gorgeous, giant, obedient and “tight lipped” poodle gave no inkling of the nature of the business she ran. In the same way that she and her partner arrived on the Cape Town coffee shop scene, they disappeared into the mist of time. The dexterity with which Elyna flitted across continents, borders and the industry in which she worked, was astoundingly nimble. A survivor of the murky trade in illicit weapons and the transfer of monumental sums of hard cash, she has no doubt enjoyed a discreet and well heeled retirement.
Neither the owner of the coffee shop, nor the casual patrons who had no direct contact with her, other than mere observation of the French lady and her Giant Poodle, were aware of the trade she surreptitiously plied. Many, though, will retain a vague recollection of a fleeting encounter with the well groomed pair who graced the coffee shop at the corner of Shortmarket and Long Streets.
©Paul M Haupt
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