Talking in secret in Zimbabwe, with a 'Mugabe man' who isn't really

In Zimbabwe, even the spies are watched.

I'm worried too, in case the meeting backfires. Mugabe's regime routinely denies foreign journalists entry to Zimbabwe, so I have no option but to work here illegally, undercover. There's always an element of risk.

The CIO casts a long shadow. Small, everyday encounters become fraught with fear. Common coincidences are magnified into something sinister. Everyone knows how the CIO guys work: You never notice them until you spot a car behind you, then drive around the block a few times and find it's still there.

There are plenty of terrifying stories about what happens to the people who are arrested, ranging from lengthy interrogation to torture. So I'm a little taken aback by the man from the President's Office. He turns out to be thirtysomething, educated, articulate and urbane. Had he been born in any other country, he might have found a career at a bank, a think tank, a law firm. Instead, he learned about dirty tricks and disenchantment.

For years, the Mugabe regime has used the CIO to undermine and frighten the opposition, keep an eye on journalists and neutralize threats. But these days the name President's Office is a misnomer, says the senior officer, who, unsurprisingly, speaks on condition of anonymity. He estimates that 60% to 70% of CIO officers -- all but the hard-line ideologues -- no longer back Mugabe.

That the dark heart of Mugabe's web of fear is abandoning him underscores how tenuous his grip on power has become.

Like most of the population in this country besieged by inflation of 231 million percent -- from the starving rural unemployed to hungry soldiers to bureaucrats whose salaries don't cover their bus fares -- the CIO staffers want change.

"There are a lot of professional [CIO] people who feel opposed to what's going on," the senior officer says. "But that doesn't mean you don't conform, or don't obey your instructions, see what I mean? It's disgruntlement, not rebellion.

"The current system has ceased to be functional. When you come to that stage, you obviously want change. Service delivery is dismal. Education is worst affected. There are no drugs in public institutions," he says, reeling off the problems like an opposition speechwriter.

CIO headquarters, a drab, nine-story red-brick building on Selous Avenue in central Harare, has many small windows, like eyes gazing at the city. Just walking by evokes a chill.

Members of the opposition Movement for Democratic Change obsess about the organization. They avoid mention of meeting places in phone calls, talk in code, use encrypted e-mail and drive circuitous routes with an eye on the rear-view mirror.

Several years ago, MDC supporters said they were certain the party had been infiltrated by CIO spies determined to undermine the opposition by sowing discord among members.

They are right to be concerned, the CIO officer says. "Infiltration is the name of the game."

He guffaws at the idea that the MDC might find that shocking. "It's to be expected. It's very normal." His term for it is "information management."

"With the opposition and some influential members of society, there is a standard procedure. It's keeping an eye on everything they do. You want to know what's happening and where, so that you can win."

Likewise, he says, the opposition should expect plenty of dirty tricks in any power-sharing government.

If such a government comes to pass, that is. Even though Mugabe was forced into a power-sharing deal after African observers rejected the results of the June presidential election, it's an idea that neither the regime nor the opposition is comfortable with, as witnessed in the tortuous negotiations ever since about who gets control of the economic posts and security forces.

Meanwhile, Mugabe holds on. The only solid obstacle he faces is of his own making: the economy, which is in such chaos that there's not a lot of actual governing he can do.