Hyena Dawn

by Christopher Sherlock

  Larry Preston went through the hardware again very carefully. Everything had to work perfectly when they stormed the bank, the stun grenades especially. They had to knock the guard out before he could sound the alarm. Then it would be straight to the strong-room. If high explosives didn’t move the door, they had the rocket-launcher to fall back on. The trouble was, it would make such a noise that the whole town would know the bank was under attack in seconds.

  After being cooped up in the store for nearly three days, Larry’s nerves were seriously on edge. The town was bristling with soldiers throughout the day, and he’d witnessed passers-by being arrested and interrogated on the spot. One man had been shot dead for being uncooperative. The only thing that kept Larry sane was the thought of the money in the vault. He vowed he was never going to go through this hell again.

  He didn’t like Mick. The Rhodesian was more interested in the success of the operation than the money - Larry thought he was crazy. Mick had told him a lot about Captain Gallagher, and the more Larry heard, the less he liked his commander. Gallagher wasn’t a mercenary in the strict sense of the word, he was doing this job because he believed in it. The man was obviously a maniac, and that meant there was less chance of them all getting out alive. It wouldn’t surprise Larry if Gallagher actually intended to return the money they got from the bank to the Rhodesians. Well, in his book that was crazy. He had a few plans of his own.

  Larry shifted uneasily, keeping watch through the whited-out windows of the shop. Mick was up on the roof of the hotel, watching the bank. Gallagher was somewhere in town, searching for a bloody woman he’d taken a fancy to. Larry wished they could attack the bank the next day and get the hell out. For all he cared, the Russians could take over the whole of Africa.

  A patrol crossed over to the store. They looked directly into the whited-out windows and Larry felt his heart beating faster. God, he would be glad when they got out of this place.

  The ballroom of the Grande Hotel was impressive, to say the least. Now, with the huge table at its centre, it looked formidable. A casual observer would have been forgiven for imagining that a vast banquet was about to take place.

  The double doors leading into the room opened, and in trooped General Vorotnikov with three of his senior officers. After him came Robert Mugabe, commander of ZANLA; Presi­dent Samora Machel; and the other ZANLA guerilla leaders. There was one representative of the FRELIMO forces, invited more for form’s sake than anything else.

  When they were all seated, the General got up to deliver a short opening speech. Reluctantly he spoke in English because that was the one language they all understood.

  ‘President Machel, Mr Mugabe, gentlemen. This is an historic moment. For the first time a black freedom movement will overrun the country it is attacking. This will be no sham victory organised from the West . . .’ the audience broke into muffled applause ‘. . . but a complete take-over. Salisbury is the prize, and it will be yours by the middle of next week. We will provide you with the air support you need, along with the necessary weapons. Victory, I can confidently say, will be easy. What I have invited you all here today to discuss is a subject very close to the heart of our President. That is, what happens after victory?’

  A murmur of dissent passed through the audience as the General introduced the subject of the meeting. Mr Robert Mugabe stood up, and the General had to allow him to speak. Mugabe was a big man, verging on the portly; his hair was brushed back, revealing a powerful face, and he wore a pair of large, black-framed glasses.

  ‘I take your point, General, but I cannot understand why we should be discussing what happens after victory. I have learnt the bitter price of defeat and imprisonment - let us throw all our energies into winning this war. We, not the Russians, will decide how we run Zimbabwe when it is ours.’

  Enthusiastic applause followed Mugabe’s speech and the Gen­eral began to feel uncomfortable.

  ‘I fully share the sentiments of Mr Mugabe, but experience has taught me that unfortunately the way in which victory is achieved determines what will follow. President Machel, the President of Mozambique and our host, was a victim of the Western con­spiracy. After he had attained victory, all the spoils were taken from him ... I ask you, gentlemen, quite frankly, does Mozam­bique have a successful economy today?’

  The room burst into an uproar, President Machel stared at the General, the anger in his eyes almost electric. This was a crucial moment. The General continued, knowing that if he stopped he might be overwhelmed. ‘Yes, but does it? I ask you, would you be so angry if Mozambique had a successful economy?’

  President Machel got to his feet, and the General’s heart sank. Machel, a thin, intellectual-looking man, was drawn and haggard. He banged his fist against the table and immediately the room became silent. For a few agonising seconds he said nothing.

  ‘Gentlemen, what the General says angers me. And do you know why? Because he speaks the truth. I thought today that Mozambique would be wealthy, the envy of Africa. Instead we are desperately poor, perhaps the poorest country in the world. We took everything when we came to power, and got nothing in the end. You know what happened: the skilled people left our country, so that at one stage there was only a single doctor in the whole of Mozambique. We had no one to advise us but our colonial masters. Now we have been forgotten by the West - as Zimbabwe will be forgotten after your victory. Do you think the sanctions will be lifted? Maybe, but the shortages will continue. The avenues of trade have been cut off. After a bloodbath, all the white people will leave . . .’

  Angry shouts cut Machel off in mid-sentence, but he shouted on. ‘Don’t be fools! We need those people, especially their skills because we do not have such skills ourselves. Robert, you must listen to me or you too will gain nothing except poverty. This must be a victory for the people, and there is no victory and no freedom in a country where young babies die because they do not have enough to eat. Do you know where the principal source of income for my country comes from now? Do you?’

  The room was silent, they knew what he was going to say. ‘From South Africa. And if they decide to repatriate all the Mozambicans working on their mines tomorrow, we will be devastated. We have no “independence” in the true meaning of the word. Now, let the General continue.’

  The Russian did not rise immediately, he wanted the impact of what Machel had said to register fully with the audience. He knew that Mugabe trusted Machel implicitly. They were the commanders of the moment and they had to sell his plans to their own people.

  Vorotnikov got up slowly from his chair and paced away from the table. All the eyes around it followed his progress. He came to the map that still hung on the wall, depicting the Portuguese empire at the height of its influence.

  ‘This map should not be here, but I am glad it is. Portugal was a great nation once, the most powerful in the world. And what is it today? A small European state of no significance whatever. The Portuguese empire did not develop overnight, nor did it fall apart quickly. Both processes took a long time. After her first revolution Russia went through terrible hardship and it was only through the great plans of Stalin that Russia gradually became the powerful nation that she is today. Wealth and power, so desirable, so long and difficult to achieve. But I want to offer you both, and in a very short time.’

  Robert Mugabe rose to his feet. ‘I will listen to what the General has to say. Later we will debate whether we accept it or not.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Mugabe. Our plan is quite simple. There are key areas in the Rhodesian economy that must continue to function, and the people who run these areas should be kept on, be they black or white. Property must not immediately be expropriated and an impression of stability must be established. I know this is hard, but it will pay dividends in the long term. A western pricing system must be retained and the economy must function as it did before. The power will rest with your own people, but for a transition period the control of the means of production will still rest with the white people.
They, however, will have a much smaller share of the profits.’

  ‘And who will be powerful enough to administer and finance this transition period?’

  The General was impressed with Mugabe’s grasp of the situ­ation. ‘I have found a very wealthy international businessman who is prepared to fund the new state. He will require nothing more than a percentage of the profits. He has the experience and the knowledge to create a sophisticated infrastructure, especially in the area of mining.’

  ‘Such a man would become far too powerful.’

  ‘Mr Mugabe, you would rule the country. If you did not like his methods it would be relatively easy to throw him out. He would not want to share political power with you; his aims are merely commercial.’ He reached down into his briefcase and pulled out a large document. It was not the one he had been working on with Aschaar for the last year, but a cleverly revised version, and showed the majority benefit from the new regime going to the state. Altogether, the document outlined a very attractive scheme that promised to make the new Zimbabwe a prosperous country. It was his trump card.

  Vorotnikov passed the file over to Mugabe. ‘A lot of work has gone into this document. It contains the ideas of some of the best business brains in the world, responding to the ultimate oppor­tunity - the creation of a new state from the drawing-board up. Naturally it will take you some time to work your way through the details, and I think it will be best to hold back any further discussion until you and your colleagues have had time to digest it.’

  Mugabe stared at him coldly. ‘This “grand plan”, does it have the stamp of approval of your own government?’

  Mugabe had uncanny insight, thought the General. A most perceptive question. I am in charge of my government’s activities in this region. These plans are approved by me as the official representative of the Soviet Government in Southern Africa.’

  ‘Very good, General Vorotnikov, but you have evaded my question. What would the Soviet government think if they were to see these plans?’

  ‘They would naturally approve of them. I do not see the point of your questioning.’

  ‘General, if you were to disappear tomorrow and another man were to replace you, I would be most anxious that he should abide by these plans.’

  ‘I see your point. You want a guarantee?’

  ‘Exactly. I could strike a deal with you today, and tomorrow you could be gone.’

  ‘Let me put your mind at ease, Mr Mugabe. This plan is self- perpetuating. Once you introduce these businessmen into the country, they will not leave, they will be driven by the desire to make money.’

  ‘And how will my people feel about that?’

  ‘They will not have empty bellies. They will have steady employment. And you will draw plenty of taxes from them to build up your army and thus strengthen your power-base.’

  ‘You argue very convincingly, General. You realise that your own role in this new country will be purely advisory?’

  ‘I did not expect more, Mr Mugabe.’

  ‘It is human nature to want more. But you must understand my position. I am a staunch supporter of Marxism, but I also respect what you have to say about the failings of the Marxist state. I do not want the new Zimbabwe to suffer as Mozambique has done. On the contrary, Zimbabwe must become very strong, so that the South Africans will fear us, and will come gladly to the negotiating table - the fighting has gone on for too long. Meanwhile, however, we still need you. Only with your assist­ance will we be able to score an outright military victory over the imperialists.’

  This was the sort of talk that Vorotnikov loved to hear - though he had absolutely no intention of encouraging peaceful change in South Africa. For his own purposes, the more violent the struggle the better.

  ‘What you say is true. But I would argue that most of the problem comes from the divisions within your own ranks. If you had managed to combine your efforts with those of Joshua Nkomo, I am sure that you would have achieved victory by now.’

  ‘Nkomo does not think as I do, General. He does not fight the war of the flea, his men seek direct, suicidal engagements. We seek to win the hearts and minds of the people; we wear our enemy down through a war of attrition. In the new government there will be a place for Nkomo, but he will never be head of state. After the take-over there will be no elections for a long, long time. The state must first rebuild itself before the people have the right to vote.’

  ‘Trust me, Mr Mugabe. You will see, when you read the document, that we will take complete control of the means of production the moment the invasion is launched. Then you will take control of a going concern, rather than a failing one. The British, of course, will be furious. I would advise you not to apply for membership of the Commonwealth, but rather to come to us for investment funding. After the creation of the new Zimbabwe, the world will no longer say there is no successful black economy.

  ‘The iron is hot. I ask you to study these plans day and night. The less time you take to make a decision, the sooner we will achieve an overwhelming victory.’

  As the General finished speaking, Robert Mugabe made his decision. ‘Thank you, General. We will see if your fine words are a match for those contained in this document. We will reconvene tomorrow afternoon. My commanders and I have a busy twenty- four hours before us. I congratulate you on being so open with us. However, I will not be pressured into a decision.’

  The delegation of black leaders filed out of the room, leaving Vorotnikov and his aides alone. Carl, to his left, was the first to break the silence.

  ‘General, forgive me for asking, but did you strike a deal with Mr Brand?’

  ‘Yes, Carl. A tough man.’

  ‘It is disgraceful. This will be the first time the Soviet Union has ever had to pay to buy its own weapons. The profit should accrue to the people, not a dirty capitalist entrepreneur.’

  ‘You are correct, Carl. But you must understand that the moment I have the weapons I will eliminate Mr Brand, and he will not be paid.’

  ‘Ah. You live up to your reputation, General.’

  The man had climbed up to the balcony in the darkness, and now he came into the room. He stank, he was haggard and unshaven. His eyes were black round the sockets and he had a wild look about him - yet Rayne knew him from somewhere. The man came into the centre of the room and stood in front of Rayne’s bed, looking at the barrel of the gun pointed directly at him.

  ‘You think I let you down. You have to realise that I got here as soon as I could.’

  ‘Lois!’

  Rayne leapt to his feet and embraced him. In a flash he realised the immense courage it must have required for Lois to have flown into Mozambique and then entered Beira to find the hotel.

  ‘This place frightens me, Captain, it’s far worse than I expected. I’ve already had to kill to survive this far. The helicopter’s ready, so are the bikes. I managed to get into the fuel depot just outside the town, and I smuggled out enough fuel to get us out of here safely.’

  ‘I don’t know how you managed it, Lois. It must have taken a hell of a lot of guts. We’ve had problems, but mostly we’ve been lucky. So what happened? I tried to make contact with you, but after I failed we couldn’t put off the launch-time.’

  ‘Problems with the bloody helicopter. It was a miracle I got her going again.’

  ‘Still giving problems?’

  ‘She’s flying like a dream. The armaments are working per­fectly too. You couldn’t have a better machine for the job.’

  ‘Did you clear out the farmhouse before you left?’

  ‘No chance. When I came back to the main camp after you’d left, the place was crawling with the SADF.’

  ‘What the hell!’

  ‘I was lucky I didn’t land or they would have had me. After that I flew back and landed a kilometre from the farm. By then I was cautious. There was an ambush - well prepared, but I got the jump on them. I killed one soldier and the commanding officer. That caused complete pandemonium and I was able to get
out without being located. I flew over the Mozambique border that same night - the last thing I needed was the South African airforce trying to hunt me down. Luckily, as far as I know there was no pursuit. Is everyone here?’

  ‘Guy is with me in the hotel, Larry and Mick are monitoring the bank. Bunty’s covering the road to the airport and Michael

  Strong is busy sabotaging the runways. Now that you’ve arrived, everything is in place. We’d better speak to Guy; it’s time to let him know about our emergency way out.’

  Lois saw that there was something else worrying Rayne. ‘Captain, you’re not telling me everything, are you?’

  Rayne focused his eyes directly on Lois. ‘Sam’s here, Lois. She was abducted by terrs on the border a week ago. Then the Russians got hold of her. For some reason I can’t quite under­stand, she was taken from them and is being hidden somewhere.’

  Lois turned and looked out at the darkness. ‘Whatever it takes to find her, sir. I’m with you.’

  Bernard sat on the balcony of the villa, sipping a whisky and staring out to sea. There was much on his mind and it had to be sorted out very quickly. Always plans and more plans. A lifetime of intrigue and corporate in-fighting had taught him never to rely on one strategy or one man alone.

  He looked down at his watch. A quarter past three. His appointment was for four o’clock.

  He had read long ago about an American movie mogul who spent at least an hour of every day on his own, thinking about what he was doing. The story had surprised Bernard, because this was something he himself had been doing for a long time. Business was much like a game of chess: make your move too quickly and you’d regret it later; wait too long and you’d give your opponent the advantage.

  Well, now the game had changed and he must make new plans. The wily Russian General was more cunning than he’d expected. Now he’d have to cover his bets, act to protect the enormous amount of money he was sinking into the project. He would have to operate as he did in every African state in which he did business, through bribery and negotiation. Well, whatever the outcome, the General would end up paying, he’d make sure of that ... He felt cut off in this place, away from the phones, teleprinters and screens that kept him in touch with the daily events of the international business world.