Wings of the Morning

by Julian Beale

  ‘This is great,’ said David bitterly, ‘and we’ve let them escape. It would’ve been the best and brightest who grabbed their chance.’ He smacked a fist on his knee in frustration.

  ‘And they’ve taken my Jonah with them,’ Patrick added.

  David whirled round on him, saying, ‘How had you heard of the place?’

  ‘Anyone living here a while hears of it, Suh, can’t avoid the name. But the place too, well that was one of my sons. He went up there to have a look one day back a couple of months. Didn’t get too close: got frightened off, but he knows where it is.’

  David sat back with his arms folded and looked at them all for maybe thirty seconds. Then he stood and asked Felix to take Patrick with him and mark up a couple of maps with the best location guide to Pange which they could manage. Left alone with King and Fergus, he didn’t mince words.

  ‘Fergus. I want you to go after them. Take who and what you need. Don’t give me the detail.

  Return with Jonah if you can, but bring me the evidence that you’ve got all the others. And be quick.’

  King raised his eyebrows but said not a word. He’d always figured David could be ruthless and single minded when he saw his opportunity. He’d first seen it so long ago with the protection thugs in Westbourne Grove. Here it was again, but big time. A punitive expedition, nominally to rescue one mute boy, but really to rub out any remaining opposition to ‘winning the welcome’. David had made an instant decision, taken it himself without debate. It was certainly ruthless and probably right. It was not a move which King could have made himself.

  Fergus Carradine set out at 2100 that New Year’s Day. He took their five SAS converted Land Rovers and his pick of the best men they could carry, including Simon Goring and Rory Trollope. He took Patrick’s son for his knowledge of the route. They made reasonable time, all on dirt road and using just convoy lights. They were in position before dawn, with just enough time for each man to have a few rations and check his weaponry. They left the vehicles and force marched the last two kilometres. They found Pange easily. The camp was impossible to miss and there were only three guards out who were expecting nothing and looked surprised as they died.

  The site among the rocks and surrounding acacia trees looked shambolic under the fading moon and was it lit by several camp fires. The country had started to undulate for some distance back so Fergus and his party could lie up behind a ridge and look down on the scene. He didn’t need night vision equipment. In the light of the fires and the waning moon, binoculars were enough.

  At a quick count, there were over three hundred down there, but including camp followers, women and girls amongst them. Most were sitting on the ground with their backs to Fergus as they gazed towards the main grouping of boulders which made for a stage, particularly one long, flat rock which looked like a giant coffin lid. On top of it a figure was cavorting, dressed in just a breech clout. He was prancing about, gesticulating with an evil skinning knife which was streaked with blood and attracting glints from the moon. Behind the coffin rock was a dark pile of something. Fergus shifted focus and could make out an untidy heap of bodies, maybe five or six and all men from the size of them. It made a gruesome sight. Fergus realised that the dancing figure with his weird incantations was the Pange Man. That made him not the boss here, not even a senior lieutenant, but every bit as powerful in this setting because he was the ju-ju figure, the bogeyman and the executioner.

  It wasn’t hard to interpret the scene. They’d spent the night weeding out interlopers, men who had escaped fighting in the city, but who were not recognised Pange. They had moved from frying pan to fire and it was impossible to know if Jonah had already perished amongst them. Being mute, large and of the wrong tribe, he wouldn’t have lasted long.

  As they looked on from their ridge, Fergus saw a tall man with a large head rise from his position at the front of the crowd and recognised him as the former President of the Republic. He wielded a long staff, a sign of his office, and bawled an instruction. The crowd subsided and voices fell, but for seconds only. Fergus caught a movement from off stage right and saw a huge figure, shambling in a docile fashion as he was being led in to confront the Pange Man. Here was Jonah, and he was going like a lamb to the slaughter.

  Fergus dropped his glasses and looking left, gave a thumbs up to his sharp shooter, Kenny Crowe, an Aussie from the Northern Territory and an artist with the sniper’s rifle. Kenny had already prepared his position and started to lay his cheek along the scope in an awkward looking angle which apparently worked best for him. But he was to be delayed. Big Jonah had worked out a plan for himself.

  As he reached the edge of the coffin lid, Jonah seemed to stumble and he looked a cowed and abject figure. His escort jabbed him in the back with the butt of an AK47. Jonah leaned forward and placed his massive hands, loosely tied together in front of him, onto the rock as if in preparation for heaving himself up and onto it. Then he struck.

  A muffled grunt of appreciation came from Patrick’s other son beside him as he watched young Jonah sweep his hands wide and break his bonds as if they’d been rice paper. He whirled around in a tight circle. He swept up the guard, plucking the AK from his hands and hurling it high and far into the acacia trees behind the coffin. Then Jonah leapt onto the rock to confront the drooling dervish, setting about him with an unusual weapon. In his mighty arms, he carried the guard who was screaming and struggling. Jonah dumped the man head first onto the rock with a sickening thud to his skull which could be heard in the sudden silence of a stunned audience. He picked up the man by his ankles and used the inert body to club the Pange Man. Blow one might have killed him and the skinning knife went flying from his grasp. The Pange Man slumped onto his execution rock and Jonah rained another couple of mighty blows upon him, skull to skull with a force which made for vengeful retribution and a bloody mess.

  The onlookers were past shock and on their feet, grabbing their weapons. One was quicker than the others and had a machine pistol in his hand. Fergus watched through his glasses as Kenny Crowe took him with a clear head shot. Two or three others followed before the shouting body worked out the direction of fire and turned, bellowing their message of fury and attack.

  Fergus and his team had cover, quickly improving light and good weapons, but they were hugely outnumbered. They were happy to hear the faint whump whump which announced the arrival of the support which Fergus had put in place before leaving the city. Two Apache gunships popped up from ground skimming behind the ridge. They came in to hover just above the commando group and opened up their hellish firepower. The Pange fell like flies and any that managed to break out were picked off by Kenny and the rest of the team. Very soon, it was all over and Fergus walked down with his men to sweep the area and far into the trees beyond to ensure that all had perished, every last one. It was there and then that they found Jonah, still mute but alive.

  Fergus himself attended to the corpse of the Pange Man, cutting off the head. It was a gruesome business, made worse by Jonah’s attentions. With his ravaged features, almost toothless mouth and the long, matted hair bloodied from his splintered skull, it made for a nightmare sight. The Pange Man, who had lurked and menaced and killed, was now very damn dead himself. That was the message which David Heaven wanted to put out and he did so with photographs of this ghoulish horror which were posted up around the city. It was a graphic illustration that the threat of the past was gone and a new era had arrived.

  MARTIN KIRCHOFF — March 2000

  From the BBC’s Today Programme on Radio Four. An interview with Mr Martin Kirchoff, (MK) Chief Executive, The Mansion House, London. Interview conducted at 0809 hours, Wed 29 March 2000 by John Humphrys. (JH)

  JH: I am speaking now to Mr Martin Kirchoff who is the chief executive of The Mansion House, the substantial British conglomerate. Mr Kirchoff is in our radio car outside the company’s corporate headquarters in Piccadilly, London. Good morning, Mr Kirchoff.

  MK: Good morning.


  JH: Thank you for joining us today. I want to ask you about your colleague Mr David Heaven who is the self-styled leader of the illegal regime in West Africa currently referred to as Millennium.

  PAUSE

  JH: Can you hear me Mr Kirchoff?

  MK: Perfectly, thank you. I was waiting for the question.

  JH: Very good. Let me start by asking you what connection, if any, Mr Heaven still has with your organisation?

  MK: Mr Heaven is a shareholder, but he has no further interest or position. Together with myself and my late father, Mr Heaven was instrumental in developing our business over a period of some thirty years and it is in large measure due to his efforts that The Mansion House now deals with 493 suppliers and we sell to over 70 countries worldwide. Our major operating divisions include mining, manufacturing, agric.....

  JH: Yes, Yes, Mr Kirchoff. Forgive me interrupting but a commercial for The Mansion House is not the requirement here. What I would prefer to ask is why your organisation is retaining any sort of contact with a man who is now widely regarded as a latter-day pirate?

  MK: Well, that is of course your characterisation but it certainly isn’t mine. As I understand matters and from what I read in the international press, the citizens of that country are already pretty content with all that Millennium has come to offer them. Order to replace corruption, hugely improved public services, advances in health care and the supermarket shelves bec...

  JH: Yes indeed. But that’s just one point of view isn’t it? There are a host of other informed commentators who report with equal conviction that this is a colonial land grab. Am I not right?

  MK: You are right in what you quote, but surely neither of us knows all the truth of it. We all wait with growing interest to be given facts, and I am not personally privy to details which have been denied to the rest of the world.

  JH: You are surely not expecting us to be satisfied with that Mr Kirchoff. After all, this is a man whom you have known and worked with for over thirty years. You must have some continuing contact with David Heaven?

  MK: To the extent that I may do, Mr Humphrys, it’s private and that is how I shall keep it.

  JH: So you do admit that you retain contact with Mr Heaven?

  MK: Well ... yes I do, but it’s infrequent.

  JH: Perhaps. Now Mr Kirchoff, let me ask you about another member of the so called Millennium mob. Do you have connections to Mr Hugh Dundas, the financier?

  MK: I know him, certainly. But Mr Dundas is in no way involved with The Mansion House.

  JH: Quite so. But your company’s past public statements have confirmed, have they not, that The Mansion House has donated funds to Mr Dundas’ charity ‘Orphans of Africa’ which is currently under investigation by both the United Nations Fraud Investigation team in Geneva as well as equivalent authorities within the European Development Fund?

  MK: Yes. I confirm that our company did donate and yes, I do understand that enquiries into the Dundas Charity are on-going.

  JH: And this makes you uneasy?

  MK: No. I wouldn’t say that. I have confidence in the skills and the probity of Mr Dundas. I welcome the exercise of investigation as the best means of proving the good intent and the effective operation of all that Mr Dundas has put in place.

  JH: And can you confirm also that it was Mr Dundas who funded the invasion of this West African State?

  MK: I believe that is provocative. I have no knowledge — and neither should I have — as to the funding for the development of Millennium. If such an arrangement exists, you would need to ask either or both of Mr Heaven and Mr Dundas for clarification on the matter.

  JH: I wish we could do just that, Mr Kirchoff, but as you know, neither is available for comment. But let me ask you a final question. If you were a peaceful citizen of background and established means, how would you react to an undemocratic assumption of power by an incoming force? An illegal invasion by any other name?

  PAUSE

  JH: Mr Kirchoff? I must press you for a response if you have one. Time is against us.

  MK: Very well. I would say that it would depend upon the circumstances.

  JH: Yes of course. But do I take your answer as meaning that you would prefer to avoid a direct answer?

  MK: By no means. I mean just as I have said, and I might illustrate my point. My father was just such a citizen in Germany before the outbreak of the Second World War. He was also a Jew. I believe that he would have welcomed an invasion some time before it happened to release him from his concentration camp.

  JH: Just so. Mr Kirchoff, thank you for speaking to us.

  And now, what is to happen to the visitor centre at Stonehenge? We have a special report ...

  KINGSTON OFFENBACH — May 2000

  King was worried. Mostly, he was worried about where he was. He had agreed to come on down to Millennium with David and had been very pleased to witness a successful arrival followed by some pretty dramatic progress. Five months on, you could feel throughout Century City that the welcome had been won. But joy at their results was not unconfined. Just as King had feared, there were pressures building elsewhere in the world for action against the makers of Millennium. What they had done was simply not proper by 21st century rules of international diplomacy. It was different, which was bad enough and apparently successful which was worse. Something must be done — and soon.

  King could pick up all those vibes by reading the news or tuning in to international stations and they were getting them all in Century now. He could flick between CNN and Sky but he preferred BBC World, and for reading, the Wall Street Journal and the Economist. What he could not do was to pick up the phone and talk to his buddies of working days. He was now regarded as a maverick who had gone seriously bush in his retirement, opting out to join the renegades. Folks didn’t want to know him right now, especially not stuck in Century City and unable to travel. He had his US passport, of course, and it was an entirely legal laissez-passer. But in practice, if he tried to enter the USA, they would pick him up and process him straight through to Langley without his elegant feet touching the ground. The CIA did not care for a retiree giving them cause for embarrassment. If he flew into Europe someplace, the reports would go back and he would become a watched man, compromising his ability to help in the one area in which he had promised to deliver.

  King spent a long night in deep contemplation, looking out over the peaceful Millennium Ocean, which greeted the view from his balcony. The task in hand was not that hard for him and he should have finished by midnight, but he kept getting distracted by memory. It was all about just one day a long time back, but it had been significant and it had combined jungle action with bullshit diplomacy — just the mixture he was wrestling with now. So he took his time and sipped at his rye and water as the memories marched through the night hours.

  As a new day dawned, King assembled the pages of notes which he had been compiling in his spare, neat hand. He took them to the shredder which stood in the corner of the kitchen. All that remained of his labours was the single sheet entitled ‘Analysis and Action Plan’. The concise summary read:

  AA) Millennium is established, but not accepted.

  BB) There is evidence, drawn from published facts and informed speculation, that the prominent governments of the European Union are preparing a political intervention with military support. The British, the French, the Germans and the Portuguese are all in favour. The Dutch and the Spanish are against.

  CC) The thesis advanced is that Millennium has resulted from an illegal act of aggression. The world, led by the former colonial powers, should take steps to dissolve the unelected government in Century and simultaneously appoint the former President’s son, who is in exile in Estonia.

  DD) The Organisation of African Unity (OAU) endorses the principle, but will commit neither funds nor forces, professing greater priorities. South Africa likewise. Russia has ‘no comment to make’. The USA believes that ‘this is a matter for Africa, those living there an
d those who formed her as she is today’. Shorthand saying that Bill Clinton has no wish to get involved during the last months of his Presidency.

  EE) The British are leading the charge. Prime Minister Tony Blair and Foreign Secretary Robin Cook are making a rare common cause, Blair being flushed with success in Sierra Leone and Cook seeing an opportunity to practice his ethical dimension. Civil Servants are, however, very sceptical and the Whitehall mandarins seek to cool the passions of their political masters.

  FF) This background serves to justify the advice I gave you at our dinner in October 1998. We need to influence a delay. A quick punch on the nose to encourage more reflection before action.

  King read this over and drove himself to Founder’s Hill for breakfast with David Heaven. Their accompanying conversation was brief. David was in full agreement.

  ‘We need more time, King, more breathing space. Can you give us that — even a few months more?’

  King then described his plan which David heard with a grunt of admiration. Short, sharp and simple. But also sweet and sour. They would get in two separate and very different blows. Neither would be very wounding except perhaps to pride, but taken together they might well do enough to bring that bit of respite.

  ‘Go for it,’ David said, ‘and don’t worry about the money. It’s really not much and God knows, we’ve got enough. You’ve done well with this King, I wonder where you get the ideas.’

  King departed in deep and rich reflection. Africa had left its scars on him. The pain of this dark cruel continent made him wonder how there could be found a better way, which influenced his support for David’s Zero from the moment he heard of it. He’d won his victory in Liberia through a mixture of thump and thought. By clobbering the guard, he’d diverted Andrade’s attention and conned him into accepting half price and the loss of his own life, a fate richly deserved. It was the combination punch which worked, sweet and sour as David said. It was time to try that again.