by Steve Richer
“I’ve seen the files,” she announced. “I’ve talked to people. I know what happened to you in the Army, what happened with MHU.”
Preston turned around again, his face red and snarling. How dare she bring that up?!
“And you think you know me? Not a day goes by I don’t think about that girl getting raped or about that general I shot. Doing favors for people hasn’t been working out for me so you can either go back to your hotel room or walk a thousand miles to Kinshasa. You’ll have to do a lot more research to find something against me.”
Now by his SUV, he got in and drove off. He hoped the cloud of dust he left behind would make her choke to death.
Chapter 53
The tarmac of the Katoga airport was busy, only not with airplanes. International traffic had been all but shut down for the time being. In fact, the only aircraft that had been allowed to land since the government was overthrown the day before was a private plane.
The large Boeing Business Jet – basically a luxury variant of the 737 – sat on the runway, the engines winding down.
In close proximity was a row of luxury cars, from Rolls-Royce and Mercedes to Lincoln and Lexus sedans. They were idle with young soldiers next to them acting as drivers.
Preston was by his Toyota, arms crossed and sunglasses on. The gun dangled from his hip and he was confident he’d be able to stop wearing it soon, the immediate threat gone.
But not yet.
The door opened and the stairs pulled down. Burt Embry, dressed in khakis and polo shirt, was the first to walk out of the plane. He squinted at the powerful sun and put his shades on. He scanned the welcome party, spotted Preston, and went over to him.
“Fantastic work, Mr. McSweeney.”
“Thank you, sir,” the younger man said as they shook hands. “What are you doing here?”
Hadn’t Embry said he was too busy to partake in this coup d’état?
“Consulting, providing security. A new government is always shaky. What’s the body count?”
“Zero. My boys were well-trained, they didn’t fire a shot.”
“Outstanding,” Embry said emphatically.
Back at the plane, a dozen people were marching down the stairs. All were middle-aged and dressed in a decidedly upper-class action. There were no jeans and T-shirts in sight.
“I didn’t expect so many people with you guys.”
“Mr. Wyatt wanted to bring as much help as possible for the new president. We have lawyers and sociologists and all kinds of university professors. They’re supposed to help draft a new constitution and assist with a smooth transition of power.”
Preston rolled his eyes. “That’s way out of my field of expertise.”
The last two people off the aircraft were Brown and Ward Wyatt himself. The former had obviously moved up in the world. He’d gone from middleman to star performer.
Preston would later learn that he’d been brought in and flown to Katoga because he was already familiar with the whole operation. The notion that he shouldn’t be seen with Wyatt was moot now that the revolution was successful.
“The hero of the hour!” the billionaire said in greeting as he and the attorney got closer.
“Thank you, Mr. Wyatt.”
As they shook hands, Preston noticed he was already sweating under his blue dress shirt.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if a hundred years from now you’d be remembered as a true Katogan hero. The people are lucky to have you.”
“I just hope Katoga can become prosperous and free.”
“Tonight we’re having a banquet to celebrate. See if you can find some dancers to put on a show, will you?”
His orders given, he smiled his goodbye and walked toward the Rolls-Royce with Brown and Embry in tow.
~ ~ ~ ~
The ballroom of the presidential palace, the rumor went, had seen more beheadings than actual balls
It was something Preston wished would one day be forgotten. Knowing that Wyatt would want some type of celebration, he had inquired in advance about entertainment possibilities. Now it was paying off.
Traditional Katogan dancers were putting on a lively show in the center of the room. There was bubbly drum music, fire-breathing, and of course dancers in traditional dress moving from one side to the other. They jumped while others rolled underneath them. They went woot-woot-aya with each fireball. It was hard not to be awed.
On one side of the group was the table of honor. It hosted Wyatt, Embry, Preston, Brigadier General Tombo, and the new president Arly Traore. On the other side of the dancers was a series of tables occupied by all the other Westerners such as Hewitt, Brown, Carver, and the visiting academics. Finally, more tables had been laid out in the back for the mercenaries.
The impressive dance number came to an end and everyone broke into applause. Wyatt stood up with his champagne glass.
“Friends,” he began with a surprisingly booming voice. “I was brought up with the notion that a person who’s capable of helping those in need has the responsibility to do so. Africa has always been dear to my heart and once I realized it was possible to do something about it I stepped up. We have planted the seed of democracy and now we must nurture it.”
He paused and people dutifully applauded. He raised his glass higher.
“My Irish grandfather used to say something that I think is appropriate here. May you be poor in misfortune, rich in blessings, slow to make enemies and quick to make friends. And may you know nothing but happiness from this day forward. Long live Katoga!”
“Long live Katoga!” everyone repeated before drinking.
The music started up again.
Chapter 54
The music was still blaring across the ballroom but in the presidential office it came out as a dull thumping sound. The feast of fire-roasted boar was over and now people were dancing and drinking. Not Preston. He would have left and gone home by now except that Brown and Embry had asked for a private word.
A few table lamps were lit and the office appeared like some sort of jazz lounge with the light reflecting off the warm furniture. As hospitable as it appeared, he couldn’t help thinking about his last visit here when he’d taken the dictator and his staff into custody. They were now being held at the national prison.
He turned and a watercolor on the nearest wall caught his attention. It was huge, had to be six feet wide. It was a landscape but had nothing to do with Africa. It reminded him of a cross between Thomas Kinkade and those Hudson River School paintings. It was luminous and peaceful. It was the type of artwork he’d wanted to create when he took up painting.
“You like?” Embry asked while his colleague was pouring drinks at the sideboard.
“Nice brush strokes. I like the happy trees.” He noticed the confused look on the other man’s face and added, “Nevermind.”
Brown returned and passed the drinks around.
“We all really appreciate the work you’ve done, Preston. You can be proud of yourself.”
“Thanks. I suppose this is the moment where you tell me you don’t need me anymore.”
Embry’s eyebrow shot up. “Disappointed?”
“No, relieved. I’m just glad nobody got killed.”
Brown produced an envelope which he handed to Preston.
“This is your final payment, five million dollars. I don’t have to remind you that you’ve signed a confidentiality agreement, I’m sure.”
“Right.”
“I also wanted to ask a favor, Mr. McSweeney.”
“You know, favors aren’t my specialty.”
Preston opened the envelope to double-check the amount. They hadn’t made a mistake in his name and he hoped the check wouldn’t bounce.
“The weapons and equipment you purchased for the operation,” Embry began. “Would it be possible for you to leave them here? I mean, I don’t see you bringing them back with you to California.”
“They cost me eight hundred thousand.”
“We co
uld purchase them from you.”
The young mercenary had no intention of letting himself be taken advantage of. “You have your checkbook?”
“Not now. Once the new government is properly established, we’ll be able to allocate funds for this. We can probably provide payment in six months or so. A million dollars even.”
Taking a few seconds to ponder the offer, Preston glanced back at the painting. He would be stupid to turn down an extra million.
“All right, I’ll let you know my new address before then.”
Embry beamed in appreciation. “Moving out of the trailer park?”
“Yeah, upkeep is too expensive.”
Brown raised his glass gleefully.
“Okay, I guess this wraps things up. Tomorrow night, Mr. Wyatt is sending his plane to New York in order to bring back a couple of lawyers and economists from Columbia University. Can we expect you and your people to be on this plane?”
“Sure.”
“Fantastic. May I?”
The lawyer pointed at Preston’s holster. Apparently, the weapons sale had been completed in the last sentence. Not having a choice – and no longer having a use for a pistol anyway – he unbuckled the belt and put the holster and sidearm on the low table.
“Business time is over. Let’s get wasted now!”
With the smile of a traveling salesman letting loose on the road, Brown gulped his entire drink and went back for another one.
~ ~ ~ ~
Back in the ballroom, the party was in full swing. Most people were not at their tables anymore. They were laughing, drinking, having an all-around good time. Hewitt, a glass firmly clutched in his hand, was dancing with two of the native dancers.
They were halfway between laughing at his disco-era moves and genuinely enjoying the performance.
Preston couldn’t suppress a smile at the scene. He found Carver polishing off a piece of cake and for a moment they simply sat while watching the Englishman and his out of character antics.
“Thanks for everything, Carver. You did a terrific job.”
The African-American waved it off. “It was my boys, not me. They had good training.”
“You coming back to the states after this?”
“In a couple of days, I wanna go to Nigeria first, see some old friends. I have a boat leaving in the morning.”
Preston pulled out a check he had prepared in advance from his wallet.
“Cool. Here’s the rest of your fee. If you can’t get elected to office with that, you need to hire somebody else to manage your campaign.”
“Anything you need, just give me a call.”
They fist-bumped and at the same time looked back toward the dance floor. Hewitt was attempting the limbo and failing miserably. It was impossible not to laugh and even Preston chuckled out loud.
That was until he remembered he had some unfinished business.
Chapter 55
The night was short. The party extended into the night and once Preston was home he had trouble falling asleep. It was crazy, he should have been sleeping like a baby after successfully completing his mission. Wyatt was here, the new president was settling in, his people were in charge. Preston had no reason to be on edge anymore.
No reason except one.
Despite all he’d been through, he still couldn’t justify Gervasi chasing him through the city and trying to kill him. That’s exactly what he’d tried to do. He had asked no questions, had offered no summons. The federal agent had simply taken off after him and attempted to run him off the road.
Preston was tired when he woke up at five o’clock. He knew falling asleep again would be impossible. He did some calisthenics but skipped jogging as it would give him more time to think which was only adding to the stress. He got into his car and drove off.
The police station was quiet. The men on duty pretty much all knew him by now and he didn’t have to jump through hoops to be led down to the dungeon. The guard opened the door and let the white man in.
“It’s okay,” Preston told the young man. “Leave us.”
The guard nodded and made his exit, leaving the door ajar. Preston wasn’t afraid of the prisoner nor was he anticipating a jailbreak attempt.
Gervasi was in an even worse shape than before. His clothes were damp, his hair dirty. He was groggy from lack of sleep and hunger. He looked like a hobo.
“Do you feel more talkative now?”
Even though the prisoner was browbeaten he didn’t answer. His eyes looked back at the mercenary with defiance. After a moment, Preston produced a power bar and a bottle of water from his jacket. He offered the food to Gervasi who leaped on it. He tore the wrapper off and took a huge bite.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. There’s a plane leaving Katoga tonight. I’m going to be on it. If you give me some answers you might be on it too. Otherwise, well, these people take attempted murder pretty seriously. It could be years before you eat another double Whopper with cheese.”
“You can’t keep me in here,” Gervasi said, his mouth full.
“Who’s going to get you out? The UN? You know what they’re saying on CNN? They’re saying the situation is volatile. That means that for them this is just another African problem not worth their trouble.”
Preston got closer and crouched. He took the bottle of water from his prisoner and opened it for him.
“How about you give me some answers, Gervasi? I’m tired of these games and I want to go home.”
The older man was still eating and looked away. He was thinking, analyzing. After almost a minute he looked up.
“I don’t work for the ATF. I’m an intelligence officer with the CIA.”
Preston snorted. “Makes sense. And that’s why you were trying to kill me? You had a quota to fill? Better yet, start at the beginning.”
Gervasi finished his power bar and ate the last remaining crumbs from the wrapper. Waste not, want not.
“About a year ago, I discovered Wyatt was moving large amounts of money to offshore accounts using shell corporations and so-called charitable foundations. I started digging.”
“What did you find?”
“Three times he went to Europe to meet with some Saudi businessman we think is actually working for the Iranians. Then you showed up.”
“And I was that interesting to you? You knew what I was planning?”
“No, not at first,” Gervasi said after taking a sip of water. “But our trail had gone cold and you were our only lead. You killing Rodriguez gave me a legitimate excuse to investigate you and see what Wyatt was up to.”
Preston looked away and focused. He was trying to construct a timeline in his head. He stood up and strolled slowly.
“Why pretend to be ATF?”
“By letting the girl and immigration investigate, I figured Wyatt wouldn’t be spooked if we got closer to him. I couldn’t let him know the CIA was on to him.”
“By the way, I didn’t kill Rodriguez.”
“No? I figured you were trying to buy weapons from him.”
“I hadn’t even been hired when he got killed. I was just a landscaper.”
It was Gervasi’s turn to snort. “It was just a lucky break then.”
“A lucky break? That’s my friend you’re talking about.”
“Sorry. Anyway, then we found out you were about to overthrow the government of Katoga.”
He was thirsty and felt like draining the whole bottle but since it was his first meal in almost two days he opted to pace himself.
“And that was a bad thing? African democracy is a bad thing?”
“Democracy? No. But we couldn’t let you go through with that. That’s why I was chasing you through the streets. That’s why I brought my G-36.”
“Why didn’t you simply call in some SOCOM guys? A Ranger company, maybe a Delta unit too?”
That was the bread and butter of special ops soldiers. Nowadays they mostly acted on CIA tips and were deployed on short notice to take down high pri
ority targets. In layman’s terms, when US Intelligence gave the order, special operators flew in and killed people. Preston had done it himself.
“There wasn’t time to give them enough intel and the people in Washington weren’t committed to invading another foreign country, not after Iraq and Afghanistan.”
He glanced again at his discarded power bar wrapper to see if there were any crumbs that he’d missed. There were none.
“So what did I do wrong here?” Preston asked. “President Nyassi was on your payroll?”
“We’re pretty sure that Wyatt chose Katoga because of the low number of international treaties.”
“Meaning?”
“Wyatt is into defense contracts. He provides defense systems to every NATO country but there’s one market that could possibly double his income.”
“China?”
He ran a hand through his hair as he digested all this.
Chapter 56
The dream job had just become a nightmare.
“No, the Chinese have already copied all the patents they need. We’re talking about Iran. They’re our enemies so Wyatt can’t sell to them. All Western countries have treaties about that.”
“But not Katoga.”
“Exactly. With a friendly leader here, Wyatt will sell his systems to Katoga who will resell them to Iran. And then we’re talking about North Korea, Venezuela, fucking Al Qaeda and ISIS.”
“Jesus Christ...”
“And don’t think Arly Traore, your new beacon of democracy, will stop any of this from happening. He’s no boy scout himself. In his late teens, he was a mercenary in Liberia. That’s how he met your buddy Embry. Traore was orchestrating massacres before he was old enough to drink.”
A major headache beginning to form, Preston absentmindedly strolled toward the door.
“Are you going to get me out of here?”
“I’ll talk to some people,” the mercenary said before he knew he had said it.
Coming out of the cell, he could think of nothing else but how he had been played again. Brown, Wyatt, Embry, they had all lied to him. He’d once more been used. He hadn’t come to Africa to jumpstart a democracy.
