by Chris Ryan
‘Lang meets with a lot of Russians in his business dealings,’ Bowman added. ‘He gets a lot of high-rollers at his casinos. It wouldn’t have been hard to arrange a few clandestine meetings.’
Mallet turned to the president.
‘You’ve been hoodwinked, sir. The Russians promised you a cosy retirement, but they’re lying through their back teeth. They’ve poisoned your associate’s brother. They even attempted to assassinate you in London.’
Seguma’s eyes narrowed, pulling his eyebrows together. ‘Someone tried to kill my double?’
‘It was kept out of the news. The police arrested an assassin near the wedding venue. He’s from Karatandu, but it looks like he was trained up and funded by the Russians.’
‘But why would they kill me? We had a deal.’
‘You’re one of the longest-serving leaders in Africa,’ Mallet said. ‘The last thing the Russians want is you making noises in the background, stirring things up. It could cause problems for the new man.’
‘But I promised them I would stay out of politics. I gave them my word.’
Mallet rooted through his pockets and pulled out a packet of smokes. ‘That doesn’t matter,’ he replied as he jammed a cigarette between his teeth and searched for a lighter. ‘The Russians will tell you whatever you want to hear, sir. But it’s safer if they scrub you out of existence.’
He patted himself down, found a lighter in his jacket and sparked up. Then he said, ‘We’re about to go live on a call with a senior officer at MI6. The British are going to make you an offer.’
Seguma’s expression tightened. ‘What offer?’
‘Something better than the one you had on the table from Russia.’ Mallet blew out smoke, looked round and tapped ash into a glass ashtray. ‘One that doesn’t end with you getting a bullet in the back of the head.’
The cigarette dangled from Mallet’s lips as he swiped a finger across the laptop touchpad. He pressed a key, the same musical ringtone filled the room, and a moment later the voice of the anonymous MI6 officer came over the speaker from six hundred miles away.
‘John? Is everyone present?’
‘We’re all here, ma’am.’
‘Have you explained the situation to Mr Seguma?’
‘I’ve told him what’s really going on, aye.’
The Voice said, ‘Mr Seguma, I’m afraid I’m going to have to make this very quick, because we don’t have a lot of time. In less than two hours, the Russians will realise that the meeting is off and initiate a military coup d’état. I’m sure you appreciate the urgency of the situation.’
‘Who am I speaking to?’ Seguma demanded. ‘Give me your name.’
‘That doesn’t concern you, Mr President. All you need to know is that I am speaking to you on behalf of the British government. I’ve been authorised to make you an offer.’
Seguma laughed mirthlessly. ‘Now you want to help me? Now, of all times? Surely this is a joke.’
‘We’re trying to help you out of this situation, Mr President.’
‘Your foreign secretary, he never returns my calls,’ Seguma said bitterly. ‘I ask for aid from your country, military help to deal with my enemies. It never comes. I tell you I have big problems, drought, my people are starving, you don’t care. But now, all of a sudden, the Russians take an interest in my country, and you pretend we are friends.’
‘I’m deeply sorry you feel that way.’
‘Lang was a fool for persuading me to do business with the Russians. But I had my reasons. You people never support me. It’s all just words, words. Give us some cash and tell us to go away.’
‘Britain considers you a dear friend,’ the Voice said. ‘We always have.’
‘If that is true, you have a very strange way of showing it.’
‘We’ve made mistakes. We’re prepared to admit that. But that’s all in the past, sir. Downing Street wants to start over. The government is keen to demonstrate its support . . . as long as you’re willing to pledge your loyalty to us.’
‘You are too late.’ Seguma shook his head slowly. ‘I cannot go back to Karatandu, not now.’
‘Mr President, you cannot allow the Russians to coerce you into stepping aside. They can’t be trusted. We both know that.’
Seguma spread his hands across the table, like a guy showing a weak hand in a high-stakes poker game.
‘How can I go back now? If I refuse the deal from the Russians, they will infiltrate my country anyway. I will lose everything.’
Mallet took a final drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray. ‘You’ll lose a lot more than that, if you go to that meeting,’ he said. ‘In fact, I doubt you’d make it out of there alive.’
‘They wouldn’t kill me. Surely?’
Mallet answered with a shrug.
The Voice said, ‘There is another way out of this situation, sir. One that doesn’t involve surrendering to Moscow.’
Seguma turned his head to one side. ‘How?’
‘If you agree to remain in office, we can help you quell the rebellion.’
‘With what? My army is poorly equipped, some of my generals cannot be trusted.’
‘The British government is ready to back you with the full weight of our Special Forces teams. We’re mobilising a squadron from the SAS, plus teams from the SBS and SFSG. They can be on the ground within the next twenty-four hours.’
Mallet said, ‘We’re talking about almost two hundred soldiers, plus weaponry and vehicles. Those lads will provide an immediate boost to your security forces. With their help, your troops will stand an excellent chance of defeating the enemy in detail.’
‘But what happens after your men leave? I will be at the mercy of my own people. What if they take to the streets again?’
‘We’ve discussed this with the Foreign Office. HMG is willing to increase its commitments to Karatandu,’ the Voice said.
‘It will need a big increase.’
‘Which is why we’re prepared to treble the current budget. We’ll also send in training teams to bring your forces up to scratch, provide them with state-of-the-art weaponry. You’ll be at the front of the queue from now on. Whatever you need, you’ll get it.’
Seguma tapped his cane against his foot as he mulled the offer. ‘It would have been better if you had made such a generous proposal before,’ he said. ‘None of this would have happened.’
‘We’re fully aware of that, sir.’
‘And why should I believe you? After all these years of broken promises?’
‘It’s in our mutual interest to fully support you, Mr President. The foreign secretary wishes to make that point very clear. He sincerely hopes for a close relationship between our countries in the future.’
The president waved a hand at the laptop screen. ‘If he considers me such a good friend, he can tell me himself.’
‘I’m sure he will look forward to doing that, sir. Once this situation with the Russians has been resolved.’
Seguma stared at a spot on the wall. As if he was squinting at a rainbow in the distance and trying to figure out what was at the end of it: a pot of gold, or something a lot less promising.
‘You won’t lose any of your privileges,’ the Voice continued. ‘You’ll get to keep your overseas properties, your Swiss bank accounts and the rest of it. But we can’t let you retire in luxury, sir. Not with the Russians knocking on the door.’
‘And if I agree to your proposal? What then?’
‘We’ll sign off on the deployment of the UKSF teams to Karatandu at once. They’ll nip the rebellion in the bud, before the enemy can gain control of the infrastructure. In the meantime, we’ll fly you via private jet to Libreville, Gabon. A team of diplomats will be sent over from London. They’ll accompany you.’
‘I should stay here,’ Seguma protested. ‘Where it is safer.’
‘You can’t, sir.’
‘Why not?’
‘Optics. It’s not a good look if you’re photographed si
tting in a luxury apartment in Monaco, while your own soldiers are busy fighting a rebel army.’
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ he replied glumly.
‘This is the right move, sir. Flying to Gabon will put pressure on the rebels. You’ll be a hundred miles across the border from your capital, holding press conferences, issuing statements, projecting an image of strength. It’ll boost morale on the ground.’
‘I’ll need protection.’
‘We’ll arrange that, sir.’
‘General Kakuba will have to be dealt with as well. He has many devoted followers. My regime won’t be secure as long as he is free.’
‘Of course,’ the Voice said.
‘This is a good deal,’ Mallet said. ‘You won’t get a better one.’
Seguma didn’t reply. He stared at the gold crown on his cane, his face stricken with indecision.
‘Mr President, we’re running out of time,’ the Voice said. ‘We need an answer now.’
Seguma raised his eyes to the laptop. He took a deep breath, nodded.
‘Very well. I’ll go back. But on one condition.’
‘What’s that, sir?’
‘You need to protect my family.’
‘Are they in danger?’ asked Casey.
‘The Russians threatened to kill them if I did not cooperate.’
Webb said, ‘Why would they target your family?’
The president stared at him as if he was mad. ‘My relatives are some of the most important people in the country. My brother is the vice-president. His wife is the head of the Women’s League in Karatandu. My wife is the party secretary. They are my closest allies. The rebels would do anything to get rid of them.’
The Voice said, ‘Where are they now?’
‘In Karatandu. At my palace in the capital, Marafeni.’
‘Who else is there?’
‘My children. My newborn son. My nieces. Some of my cabinet ministers. No one else.’
‘What are they doing there?’
‘It’s the only safe place in the city. They’ve been holed up there for the past few days, making radio broadcasts denouncing the protestors, running the country in my absence.’
‘Why didn’t they leave with you, sir?’ asked Bowman.
‘I couldn’t take the risk. I needed to keep them in place while I met with the Russians. Otherwise my enemies might have realised what was going on with my plans.’ He rubbed his brow. ‘You must protect them.’
‘The Russians would want them out of the picture, that’s for sure,’ Mallet agreed. ‘The army would throw in the towel double-quick.’
‘There’s another reason they would be interested in my family,’ Seguma said quietly.
‘Aye? What’s that?’
Seguma looked down at the cane on his lap. ‘Some of my relatives, they know my secrets. The Russians might put them on trial. They could use them to spread lies and discredit me.’
He spoke in a cold, impersonal tone. Bowman had the impression the president seemed more interested in his political credibility than the welfare of his loved ones.
‘You must protect my family,’ Seguma said. He lifted his eyes to the laptop. ‘That is non-negotiable. I will not return to my country unless you can guarantee their safety.’
He leaned back, his arms folded across his ample chest. The Voice was silent for so long Bowman thought the connection had been lost. Then it spoke up in its train-station-announcement tone.
‘Mr Seguma is correct. The security of his family is of paramount importance. Their capture, or worse, would represent a major victory for General Kakuba and his Russian backers. We cannot allow that to happen.’ There was another pause. ‘There’s only one thing for it.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Mallet.
‘You’re going to have to get over to Karatandu,’ the Voice said. ‘Locate the president’s family and protect them at all costs. Before the Russians get to them first.’
Seventeen
The four members of the Cell looked round at one another. No one said anything for what felt like a long while but in reality was no more than five or six seconds.
Casey broke the silence. ‘Why us?’ she asked.
‘Because there’s no one else,’ the Voice replied.
‘What about those other SF teams? The ones going in to sort out the rebellion?’
‘The SAS squadron is currently on an operation in Libya. That’s D Squadron. Those fellows have got to get back to base, refit, get a full briefing and then fly down to Karatandu. That will take time. Twenty hours or so.’
‘And the other units? SFSG, SBS?’
‘They’re scheduled to fly down from their respective bases in the UK and link up with D Squadron in Libya. We’re expecting both teams to arrive in Tripoli shortly before midnight. They’ll depart at one o’clock in the morning, local time. Libya is an hour ahead of Karatandu. Flight time is a little under six hours. Which means the combined SF force won’t land in Karatandu until tomorrow morning. By that time, it might be too late. The coup might already have been triggered.’
‘Besides,’ Mallet added, ‘when those lads do come in, they’ll have their hands full stamping out the resistance. They won’t have time to safeguard the family.’
‘So it’s down to us,’ Webb said. ‘Is that it?’
‘More or less,’ the Voice replied.
‘And how are we supposed to get to Karatandu faster than D Squadron?’
‘We’re preparing a diplomatic jet for Mr Seguma for his flight to Libreville. Courtesy of our friends at the CIA. The jet is due to land at RAF Northolt shortly before heading down to Nice. You’ll take the jet and accompany the president as far as Libreville. We’ll arrange a connecting flight to take you from there to Karatandu. Once you’re on the ground, it’s a forty-minute drive to the palace. Should get you into the capital for around midnight. Six hours earlier than the other units.’
Bowman said, ‘What’s the plan once we get to the family?’
‘You’ll be the tip of the spear. The advance party. You’ll locate Mr Seguma’s loved ones, secure the perimeter and wait until the main strike force arrives to secure the country and snuff out the rebel forces.’
Bowman considered. ‘It could go badly wrong. What if the coup kicks off before the other lads arrive?’
‘It won’t,’ the Voice said. ‘You’ll have time.’
‘Easy for you lot to say. You’re not the ones putting your necks on the line.’
There was a long sigh before the Voice replied, ‘Our analysts think the coup is unlikely to happen until first light. Which is around five thirty in the morning in Karatandu.’
‘Sounds about right,’ Mallet remarked. ‘Standard military doctrine. First light and last light are the best times to mount an assault. If the Russians are launching the takeover tomorrow, it’ll be at the crack of dawn. I’d bet my house on it. We won’t be exposed for long before the strike force arrives.’
‘If the timings are right,’ said Bowman. ‘If they’re not, we’ll be out on our arses.’
Mallet said, ‘The KUF won’t go for the palace first. General Kakuba and his men will want to establish a foothold in the country before they turn their sights on the family. By that time, the lads from D Squadron, SFSG and the SBS will be on the ground.’
‘It’s not just the KUF,’ said Bowman. ‘It might be some other group of rebels joining the fight. Or a gang of protestors looking to storm the palace.’
‘Possibly,’ the Voice interjected. ‘But we’re talking about a handful of poorly armed locals, at best. Surely you guys can handle that. You’re elite soldiers.’
‘We can take care of it, ma’am,’ Mallet agreed. ‘Should be a bread-and-butter job. Right, guys?’ he added, his cold eyes glancing round the table.
Casey said, ‘Why don’t we escort the family across the border? That’s got to be less risky than staying put in the capital while we wait for the cavalry to show up.’
‘My fami
ly cannot leave.’ Seguma tapped a finger against the table to emphasise his point. ‘They must have a presence in the country. If they flee, it will look bad for me. My people will think I’m a coward.’
‘They’ve got the radio transmitter at the palace too,’ Mallet reminded them. ‘They’ll need to keep broadcasting messages to the army and the police. Boost morale.’
‘There’s no time to argue the merits of the mission,’ the Voice said. ‘You have your orders. The family must be protected, no matter what.’
‘We’re assuming they can hold out at the palace until we arrive,’ Webb pointed out.
Bowman said, ‘Patrick has got a point. Those protests in the streets are turning ugly. How do we know the mobs won’t overrun the palace in the meantime?’
Mallet looked round at Seguma. ‘Are there any guards with your family, sir? Anyone who’s capable with a gun?’
‘Some, yes,’ Seguma replied. ‘From the Presidential Guard. My best men.’
‘How many guys are we talking about, sir?’
‘Forty, perhaps more. I’m not sure. My chief security adviser is there. You could check with him. His name is Mr Gregory.’
Bowman stared at him in surprise. ‘Mike is with your family?’
‘Yes. You know him?’
‘Mike was my old commanding officer in the Regiment. He’s a top-class bloke. All the guys at Hereford respected him.’
A gleaming smile crawled like a colony of ants across the president’s face. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’
Bowman recalled the photograph he’d seen pinned to the board in the Shed. The sun-blasted face, the wild hair and bushy beard. He remembered, too, how Gregory had stepped in to stop him from being RTU’d on Selection. The drunken fight outside the pub. The flashing lights from the police car. The night he’d spent in the cell. There had been no reason for Gregory to intervene. But he had argued Bowman’s case anyway. Saved his career. Because it had been the right thing to do. Bowman had looked up to him during his time in B Squadron. Admired him. Gregory had almost been like a father figure, looking out for Bowman during those difficult early days in the Regiment.
