by Peter Tonkin
Kebila nodded. ‘It also means,’ he continued, ‘that we – and of course Mr Asov’s men – will be facing something relatively new. A seventies-style jungle-wise bush army like Joseph Kony’s Lord’s Resistance Army, combined with a terrorist trained and equipped cadre, equivalent to a top-flight Al Qaeda cell, with access to and expertise in the most cutting edge of twenty-first-century hardware. We may all find that we are fighting two entirely different types of war with the same people in the same place and at the same time.’
‘Everything from AKs, cocaine and Ngoboi,’ nodded Richard thoughtfully, ‘to IEDs, smart phones and the Internet.’
‘It seems to me,’ said Anastasia militantly, ‘that it doesn’t matter a damn whether you’ve got smartphones or spears, clubs or computers. Or whether you’re Abubakar Shekau, Habeeb Bama, Odem, Ngoboi or Osama Bin Laden. Once the bullet goes through your head, you’re dead.’
‘That’s true,’ answered Kebila gently. ‘Our problem will be getting to Odem’s head. Or Ngoboi’s.’
‘They managed it with Joseph Kony, Habeek Bama and Osama Bin Laden. It shouldn’t be beyond us!’ persisted Anastasia curtly. ‘We cut our way through the jungle to the Army of Christ. We cut our way through the Army of Christ to Odem and Ngoboi. And we shoot the fuckers. Job done. Simple!’
‘If that was all there was to it, then it would indeed be simple,’ agreed Kebila. And both Richard and Robin were relieved that his tone was not in the slightest bit patronizing. ‘But you know as well as I do, Miss Asov, that it will not be anywhere near that easy. Even for the impressively skilled army of Amazons you have trained to protect your orphanage.’
‘I didn’t train my people just to sit here and wait for someone to come up and go boo! to them,’ said Anastasia brusquely. ‘Any more than you did. Or are doing now – I assume!’
‘Quite,’ said Kebila drily. ‘But we are here to regroup and to plan our next foray upriver. You are not. You and your command will remain here to guard the orphanage. I will leave some of my men to stand alongside you under the command of Sergeant Tchaba, with whom I believe you will work very well. But I’m afraid you have accompanied us for the last time. For the immediate future, at any rate,’ he added as he saw a murderously mutinous look descend on Anastasia’s face. Then he looked back at his own officers. ‘And of course we have a new priority as well. On top of finding and neutralizing Odem and the Army of Christ, it is our clear duty to try and rescue the other Russian, if we can. Corporal Livitov’s missing companion.’
‘Brodski,’ snarled Anastasia, as though the word were an insult she was throwing in Kebila’s face. ‘His name is Sandor Abramovich Brodski.’ And she got up, grabbed her rifle and turned to leave the tent.
‘It might be just as well if you were to stay here,’ said Robin to Anastasia later, as Richard accompanied the two women back to the main orphanage building. ‘The camp was deserted all morning except for the maintenance, admin and catering staff. The Zubrs were both gone and all the Russians aboard them. It was tense here, creepy. Obviously Father Emil and the sisters were all bustling about, taking classes and running the orphanage as usual. The ancillary staff were cooking for the children, feeding them breakfast, lunch after the lessons and so forth. We even had a visit from the elders of the town to see how we were – and to catch up on the gossip. But everyone was on edge. Your Amazons were all like cats on hot bricks until Esan and Ado took them off. And then, when they were gone, the rest of the children were simply terrified …’
Anastasia nodded curtly. ‘I know. They rely on me more and more. Too much, I think. But it’s only because of the way the country’s still being run – too much military, not enough police. Yes, I know. Like at home in Russia still. The best way to deal with the army and get some civil order is to put Celine in the President’s Palace. And the best way to deal with everything else they’re afraid of is to bring Odem to justice and prove Ngoboi is no more than his puppet.’
‘You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?’ asked Richard gently.
‘Of course I have, Richard,’ she said quietly, pronouncing his name Reekard in the Russian way. ‘Without Celine running things beside me, this place is becoming as much of a prison as a home to me. I do not want to spend the rest of my life in an African Butyrka. I have been planning my escape. And it looks like getting rid of Odem is the best way to make a start.’
Mosquito
Deep in thought, Richard escorted Anastasia and Robin back to their refurbished rooms in the orphanage and then over to the orphanage refectory for dinner. And the smell of the egusi soup and jolloff rice the staff and students were just about to eat proved irresistible, reminding him that he had skipped lunch altogether. Egusi soup was in fact a thick stew of minced beef and seafood with shredded spinach in a spiced tomato sauce. It was accompanied by traditional eba – roasted cassava flour seasoned and boiled then rolled into balls. It was eaten from a communal bowl and looked a little like mashed potato. Jolloff was a fiery rice full of chicken and all sorts of peppers. Richard tucked into it all hungrily. Then he went to the communications tent and found Kebila talking to his cousin. ‘Now that Odem’s on the water, you’ll have to keep a sharp lookout, Caleb,’ Kebila was saying. ‘And warn Captain Zhukov to do the same. He has explosives. The kind they put into vests for suicide bombers. In all likelihood he has a prisoner – so be wary of Russians staggering into your camp, particularly if it’s Brodski.’
‘Both Stalingrad and Volgograd have a full set of countermeasures in place, capable of handling anything he could throw at us,’ came Caleb’s reply. ‘But I’ll warn Mako and Ivan to keep extra watches out when we beach and set the Russians down to proceed on foot. At that point we’ll decide whether to wait or return. We’ll be in contact then, as planned. But I’ve been thinking: with Odem on the river, the orphanage’s back door is pretty wide open until we get back on to your slipway there. If you’re off upriver after the Army of Christ first thing tomorrow, then they’ll be vulnerable to attack from the water, even if you leave Sergeant Tchaba and a pretty strong squad to back him up.’
‘I’ve thought of that,’ said Kebila. ‘When I’ve finished speaking to you I was going to call for a couple of fast patrol boats to get up here at full speed.’
Richard held up his hand.
‘Wait, Caleb. Yes, Captain Mariner?’
‘Since the passage through the ruined bridge at Citematadi downstream has been cleared,’ said Richard, ‘you could get something bigger than a patrol boat past it. You could get a frigate up here if you wanted. She’d have to drop anchor as there’s no docking facility big enough to take her, but something like your frigate Otobo is as well armed as the Zubrs. And as fast as your fast patrol boats. If she could be spared from her sea duties …’
‘Did you hear that, Caleb?’ asked Kebila. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think Captain Sanda might never forgive you for taking his beautiful blue-water command and demoting her to brown-water duties. But apart from that, Captain Mariner is right. The river should be deep enough, Otobo’s draught is seven metres fully laden. And now that the main channels are clear of both water hyacinth and rubble …’
‘Consider it done, then,’ said Kebila decisively. ‘Talk to you later, Caleb. Have a quiet night. Over and out.’ Kebila broke contact and sat for a moment, deep in thought.
‘Do you have the authority to order Captain Sanda and Otobo up here, Colonel?’ asked Richard.
‘No. But Minister Aganga does,’ answered Kebila.
And she’s in Felix Makarov’s pocket unless I’m very much mistaken, thought Richard, remembering what Robin had told him of her last ride down to the docks with Celine Chaka. I wonder how she’ll view Kebila’s request.
But he was not to find out immediately. The minister was not available, it seemed. Kebila was given unusually short shrift. Disturbingly short shrift, considering his position, power and influence.
Undaunted, the colonel contacted Captain Sanda
directly, explained the situation and asked him to get his command ready to sail. Sanda appeared to be quite willing to do so, but seemed to doubt that the minister would be as immediately compliant as the colonel assumed. The line was not of the best quality and there were undertones in the swift Matadi language that Richard could not quite grasp. Certainly, when he broke contact, Kebila was frowning thoughtfully, and Richard was really beginning to wonder what was up.
Kebila stood back from the radio transceiver and gestured to the army operator to resume his schedule of contacts. Richard sat, watching the routine, his mind busy, wondering whether to bother with the radio after all when he could contact Ivan on his Benincom cell phone almost as effectively – as long as the electrical current that the orphanage’s generator produced was compatible with the phone’s charger.
Both men were still there five minutes later when Robin came into the tent. ‘Has either of you seen the television?’ she asked. Richard swung round to look at her, pulling his mind back to the here and now. ‘The news is on,’ she said. ‘And it looks as though things are hotting up over the presidential election. There’s growing unrest in Granville Harbour, apparently. Talk of riots.’
‘Riots?’ asked Richard, stunned. ‘What on earth about?’
‘Apparently Celine gave a TV interview yesterday evening while we were playing hide and seek with Ngoboi and co. It was a pretty routine affair, to begin with, at least, but there was a discussion started by one of the other interviewees that ended up with her being trapped into suggesting that if she won the election she would try and move some of the money spent on welfare and infrastructure in Granville Harbour city into expanding the cooperatives out here. The discussion seems to have got a little heated. Manufactured confrontation – no news like bad news; that sort of thing. There seems little doubt that Celine simply meant that more efficient production in the hinterland would help feed the increasing numbers flocking to the city as prosperity there continues to grow. At least that’s what she and her people are saying by way of clarification this morning …’
‘But?’ asked Richard.
‘But the whole thing has been spun. It’s now being presented as announcing that she will take money from ethnic Matadi tribal city folk in order to support the Kukuyu, Masai and Bantu interlopers who are stealing their jobs and prospects – as well as their traditional farmlands out here.’
‘But the farmlands have been without tenants and allowed to run to seed for decades! The Kikuyu and Bantu farmers are simply the experts who are helping rebuild successful farms, cooperatives and so forth,’ said Richard, frowning. ‘Captain Caleb explained it all when he was taking us through the map.’
‘I remember what you told me,’ said Robin grimly. ‘But one man’s foreign expert is another man’s economic invader.’ Robin shrugged. ‘Look how we English have reacted over the years to immigrants from Ireland, the West Indies, India and Pakistan, China, Poland …’
‘I see your point,’ rumbled Richard. ‘But surely it was President Chaka himself who invited these people in—’
‘No,’ interrupted Kebila. ‘It was a project that Celine espoused as soon as she entered parliament. She was not always the leader of the opposition. She held a minor government post for a while. Rebuilding the farms in the tribal hinterland has always been one of her most precious projects. But this interpretation of her work is something utterly new.’
Richard looked at Robin. ‘Felix Makarov …’ he mouthed silently.
She nodded, frowning. For it was she, after all, who had begun to suspect that their other Russian business partner was more than capable of mounting a dirty tricks campaign to ensure his man – and his contracts and his promised concessions – got safely back into the presidential palace.
‘But there haven’t actually been any riots yet?’ asked Richard.
‘No, none,’ Robin answered. ‘Yet.’
Kebila suddenly leaned forward to his radio operator. ‘Put me through to the central police station in Granville Harbour,’ he ordered. ‘I want to get a full and detailed update from the senior officer on duty …’
Richard stood up, crossed to Robin and steered her towards the tent flap with one arm around her waist. This conversation was unlikely to be one Kebila wanted to share. And it was likely to be lengthy. Therefore he decided to risk his Benincom cell phone after all.
‘Dobryy vecher Reekard,’ said Ivan before switching to English. ‘How are you?’ Because Richard had come through on the phone rather than the radio, the conversation started off with gossip rather than business. But that was OK with him as he stood in the dark room looking through the tight-closed window down the slope towards the broad reach of the dark river, trying to work out what were gathering shadows and what were thickening clouds of insects.
‘I’m fine, thanks, Ivan,’ he answered. ‘I understand you’re beached and jungling up some supper.’
Halfway through his sentence, Richard saw the door, reflected in the window behind the reflection of his shoulder, silently swing open. Anastasia came tiptoeing soundlessly into the room. Their eyes met as though in a mirror – his narrow and thoughtful, hers wide and almost luminous in the shadows. Richard raised his eyebrows, thinking they really ought to do something about the walls in this place. Anastasia shook her head, put her finger to her lips and crossed to stand beside him as Ivan talked about supper. Richard tilted the phone so she could hear him. ‘That’s about it. We’ve done a good day’s travelling and now we’re bedding down in the last comfortable place we can find before we head on inland tomorrow. Except …’ There was a sound like a pistol shot. ‘Except for these damned mosquitoes. I’ll be sleeping aboard.’
‘We’ve had some here too,’ said Richard sympathetically. ‘You think they’re spreading downriver?’
‘Looks like it,’ said Ivan. ‘Though God knows where they’re coming from.’
‘The jungle,’ said Richard, distracted by the eavesdropper and the soft warmth of her breath on the back of his hand.
‘Anyway,’ persisted Ivan, blissfully unconscious that his words were being spied upon. ‘It’s lucky we brought our food with us. There was some talk of living off the land but it’s all come to nothing, as Colonel Mako said it would. Some of the men were certain the river would contain catfish. But no luck yet. I think Zubarov has given up with his rod but he wants to go for a quick swim before we bed down. He says the river mud will help make him mosquito-proof.’
Richard chuckled a little theatrically so that Ivan would hear him over the phone. He glanced at Anastasia, raising his eyebrows again. Want to join in? She shook her head. No.
‘You call about anything in particular?’ asked Ivan guardedly, coming nearer to the heart of his concerns. And hers, thought Richard.
‘Just as agreed,’ he said vaguely, still looking at Anastasia’s almost luminous gaze. ‘To update you on today – whatever hasn’t come to you already from Kebila via Caleb or Zhukov.’
‘Poor old Livitov, you mean. And Brodski, whatever’s happened to him. I must be slipping to lose two men like that.’
Richard made no immediate comment but after a moment, he said, ‘Odem’s been running rings round us all. With the help of his friend Ngoboi. What happened to Livitov is bad but not your fault.’
‘But still,’ said Ivan distantly. ‘When I think of what they did to him. What they probably did to him before that. What might have happened if their plan had worked. To you. And Anastasia … How’d Anastasia take it all?’
Ivan’s innocent question brought a new, intense electricity into Richard’s room. ‘As you’d expect,’ he said blandly once more, wishing the vibrant girl beside him would either get involved or get the hell out. ‘One more reason to catch them and kill them as soon as she can.’ She gave a lopsided grin at that and nodded.
‘Has she said anything about me?’ Ivan asked.
Richard stopped, apparently to think; actually to look into her intense gaze once again. This time she shook her
head more vigorously than ever. Then, ‘No,’ he answered truthfully, if tactlessly. ‘She hasn’t mentioned you at all.’
‘Well, tell her … Tell her from me …’
Richard and Anastasia never discovered what Ivan wanted him to tell her, for as the unhappy Russian paused for the second time, all hell was let loose. The connection was suddenly full of shouting and swearing that grew so loud Richard pulled the cell phone even further away from his ear. He met Anastasia’s eyes; her look was simply agonized. She, like he, was clearly wondering whether Ivan was at the centre of a sudden attack. She opened her mouth to call to him, but his voice came over the connection and prevented her. ‘It’s Zubarov, Richard. I’ve got to go. He went swimming like he said he would – and they say that a crocodile got him. A crocodile! A huge one. A monster. Five metres or more. My god! Looks like there’s more than mosquitoes coming downriver!’
Pushkin
Zubarov’s death seemed to Ivan to signal the beginning of an increasingly dark and dangerous time. None of the men were certain they had seen the crocodile that took him; only the kind of disturbance on the dark surface of the benighted river that would be expected if a crocodile had taken him. But as Ivan’s swift – yet thorough – enquiry established, none of the witnesses had ever actually seen a crocodile in real life. And those that had – like Mako – hadn’t witnessed Zubarov’s disappearance. There was no body. But a search of the water and the riverbank revealed nothing, so at last they all went to their quarters aboard and slept as best they could.
