The Wilby Conspiracy Page #2

Bureau of State Security.

I insist on a full explanation.

Yes, you've every right to insist on a full|explanation, but no right to be given one.

Major Horn, please get off my desk.

Your cigarettes as well.

Now then, you may be seated.

No, I have to be going.|Thank you, brigadier.

You see, what we've got here is a matter|of security, and the Bureau and I feel...

Well, we just can't give you|a high enough clearance.

This never-never land you're fighting|to preserve, well, it's waking up...

...young people.|A whole questioning generation...

...unsatisfied with the swill|you've been dishing up for 20 years.

You shout "national security" whenever|you do anything immoral or illegal.

And damn lucky for you we do.

Three million whites surrounded|by 18 million blacks?

Listen, we built this country.

Every town, every factory, every farm,|mine and Christian church.

I protect it, and that's the way|it's going to stay, because no Zulu...

...20 years out of a tree|will shove 50 cents in my hand...

...and tell me there's a freighter...

...waiting to ship me|out of the land I built, alrighty?

No, we built.

Don't you love your country?

Yes! But is it the same country?

were taken to hospital.

with a broken pelvis and fractured jaw.

and a white thug...

been made known.

This ends our news flash.

I don't like traveling with a white thug.

Is it considered bad form...

...to throw a handcuffed male Bantu|out of a moving car?

- Not in this country, it isn't.|- I'm glad to hear it.

How do your hands feel?

- They hurt like hell.|- Good.

That means no gangrene.

- Gangrene doesn't hurt?|- No, gangrene smells.

Keep moving your fingers.

They always put them on too tight!

On purpose.

Pull over to the next clump of bushes.

- Now?|- Yes.

My bladder has not been the same|since the electric therapy.

- Electric what?|- Therapy.

When they caught me,|I had many names they wanted...

...so they wired my balls to a storage|battery and switched on the current.

I gave them all the names|they already had and one they didn't.

Jesus.

That's the one.

All my fingers are numb,|I can't undo my zip.

- I beg your pardon?|- There's no time to think it over.

Now what?

You know now what.

Take up the slack.

Go!

Show me your hands.

Are you a brave male Bantu?

- Have I got a choice?|- Yes, of course you have.

Either the cuffs come off tonight...

...or the hands tomorrow.

You are the only judge of how fast|and how deep to go.

I suppose I ought to thank you.

It's a pleasure.

From now on you can take care|of your own business.

Force my gate.

Break into my shop.

Well...

...what was it?

Murder, rape, robbery?

Political.

You'll have to do better than that.

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